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OFFICER! 


HULBERT 

FOOTNER 



By HULBERT FOOTNER 


Officer! 

Ramshackle House 

The Deaves Affair 

The Owl Taxi 

The Substitute Millionaire 

Thieves’ Wit 

New Rivers of the North 

NEW YORK: 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




OFFICER! 


BY 

HULBERT FOOTNER 

i> 



NEW Xfir' YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


Cere'S 




COPYRIGHT, 1924, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




COPYRIGHT, 1924, 

BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY 

officer! 

-B- 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


SP-n^' 

©C1AS01689 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I 

An Arrest .... 


. 

• 


9 

II 

The Release 





20 

III 

Re-arrest .... 





31 

IV 

Escape . 





49 

V 

A Step Up .... 





61 

VI 

The Spotted Pup 





70 

VII 

Up-state .... 





82 

VIII 

The City by the Sea . 





94 

IX 

Determination 





108 

X 

The Donoughmore 





121 

XI 

Through the Air . 





138 

XII 

The Decrepit Car 





152 

XIII 

Tete-a-Tete .... 





172 

XIV 

The Big Bosses . 





189 

XV 

In the Visitors’ Room 




• 

197 

XVI 

Various Leads 




- 

205 

XVII 

The Identity of Mr. Felix . 





218 

XVIII 

Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 





233 

XIX 

Phillida’s Story . 





249 

XX 

The Trial .... 





263 

XXI 

Conclusion .... 





275 



























































OFFICER! 



I 




ft 



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OFFICER! 


CHAPTER I 

AN ARREST 

XT J HAT do patrolmen think about during their long, 
* ^ solitary tours of duty at night? Take young 
Larry Harker, number X5667, he was thinking about 
girls. His beat included several of the quiet, elegant 
side streets lying east of the Avenue in the fashion¬ 
able Fifties, and the hour was about ten thirty, that 
slack period midway between the departure and the 
return from evening entertainments. East Fifty-first 
Street offered nothing of interest to the eye, and Larry 
was driven in on himself. He was thinking pleasantly 
of girls. 

. . . Peggy Bilton, comical little thing! Bright as 
a newly minted dime! How she could make a man 
laugh with her funny faces. . . . Pretty too, like a 
fluffy kitten. . . . But was there anything to her? 
. . . Somehow you couldn’t see her cooking good 
meals, and making a man comfortable around the 
house. . . . Well, there was Alice Shannon, she was 
a household treasure all right. Gosh! What a meal 
she could serve up! Made your teeth wet just to think 
of it! Easy to look at too. . . . But no ! you couldn’t 
get up any excitement about Alice. Too soft . . . 

9 


10 


Officer! 


And in five years she’d be all over the place. . . . 
Just like her mother . . . Always want to look at 
a girl’s mother before you make up your mind . . . 
Irene Tanner, plenty of excitement about her! . . . 
Gee! you couldn’t come anywhere near the girl but 
your heart beat faster. . . . Something in those long 
black eyes of hers . . . dangerous! . . . With her fine 
figure and her style and all, she’d be a credit to a man, 
but . . . but . . . The trouble about Irene was she 
went to every man’s head just the same. It was fun to 
take her out and make the other guys look jealous, 
but to marry her . . . and have the other guys hang¬ 
ing around . . . Not on your life! A man wants 
some peace of mind when he’s married . . . 

And so on, through the lengthy list of his female 
acquaintances. None of them exactly came up to spec¬ 
ifications. He was not at all disturbed about it. 
Plenty of time. Plenty of time. Meanwhile it was 
interesting to put them through their paces. He was 
sustained by the comfortable feeling that any one of 
them would jump at him. It was a little cruel per¬ 
haps to keep them all guessing, but that was their 
lookout. 

Larry did not consider himself conceited, but he 
could not help knowing how good-looking he was. It 
was a fact which had coloured and shaped his whole 
life hitherto, and he had long ago taken it for granted 
that he was set apart in that respect from the ordi¬ 
nary run of men. There is a lot going on in all of 
us that we never acknowledge. When Larry came 
out on the running-track clad only in singlet and shorts 
he could feel the admiration of the crowd, and was 


An Arrest 11 

uplifted by it. Like men in general, and policemen 
in particular, he affected to despise such a thing as 
beauty in a man; nevertheless the consciousness of the 
possession of beauty was revealed in his gallant car¬ 
riage. Young policemen are not supposed to look 
much in the mirror, but Larry knew very well that his 
sea-blue eyes had a peculiar liquid shine that was ex¬ 
traordinarily potent with the other sex. 

In short Larry’s digestion was perfect, and he had 
yet to experience the difficulties of life. His good 
looks and his muscle had carried him along so far on 
the crest of the wave; first as school-boy athlete, then 
as the football star of a suburban college, and now 
to the force, where he was one of the newest of patrol¬ 
men, but already a figure looming big in the Annual 
Games. The best-looking young fellow, and the best 
athlete in his circle, and already a settled man with 
an assured future—well, if life had anything more 
than that to offer, he didn’t know about it. 

Midway through Fifty-first Street there stood a 
small hotel called the Colebrook. It was the sort of 
hotel that does not hang out a sign. A mysterious 
aura of “exclusiveness” enveloped it, which was worth 
thousands to the proprietors. It was supposed to be 
the favourite haunt of English people of rank and 
fashion when sojourning in New York. Larry, who 
had heard that lords and ladies stopped there, gave 
it a glance of unwilling respect, as he came abreast 
of the building on the other side of the road. 

The street was very still. All the front windows 
of the hotel stood open. Suddenly from one of those 
windows sounds issued that brought Larry up with a 


12 Officer! 

round turn; a startled exclamation, a scuffle, the over¬ 
turning of a chair. Immediately afterwards a man’s 
figure appeared at a window on the third floor, shouted 
“Police!” and disappeared. 

Larry, as if a spring had been released inside him, 
sprang into action. In five seconds he was inside the 
hotel lobby. There was no one in view but an idle 
clerk behind the desk. The elevator stood open and 
unattended on the other side of the foyer. 

“Trouble on the third floor,” said Larry crisply. 
“Take me up!” 

“Eh, what?” said the astonished clerk. Evidently 
the cry had not reached his ears. 

“Get a move on!” cried Larry. “Up-stairs!” 

The clerk, not fully comprehending, nevertheless 
made haste to obey the peremptory command. 

“Third floor front,” said Larry. “Fellow calling 
the police.” 

The car had no more than started upward when 
Larry heard flying steps on the stone stairway that 
surrounded the shaft. With a gesture he commanded 
the clerk to stop at the floor above. Springing to the 
foot of the stairway, he was just in time to receive 
the descending figure within his outstretched arms—a 
slight figure, lithe and tense. 

She started to struggle like a trapped cat, but sud¬ 
denly becoming aware of the blue coat, the brass but¬ 
tons, she went flaccid in Larry’s arms with a gasp of 
terror. A pursuing figure precipitated himself upon 
them, a man, the same, apparently, who had shouted 
from the window. 

Larry, still embracing his trembling little prisoner, 


An Arrest 13 

saw that her accuser was one of the highly finished 
Englishmen that he associated with the Colebrook. 
As a good American he felt a sort of uneasy disdain 
for the type. This was a man fifteen years older 
than Larry, but lean and erect as a youth. It pleased 
Larry to see him thoroughly flustered. 

“That girl is a thief!” he said excitedly. “I caught 
her ransacking my room!” 

Larry held his prisoner away from him in order 
to get a look at her. In half a glance he saw that 
she was extremely pretty. The fact lent a great zest 
to the commonplace situation, and he grinned de¬ 
lightedly. He had never been called upon to take up 
anything like this. More than pretty! she set his 
pulses leaping. Her thick black hair cut short at the 
neck, stood out straight with every quick turn of her 
head, lending her a strange, boyish grace. She had 
glorious dark eyes, full of terror now, but still not ab¬ 
ject. Terrified and flashing. 

“It’s a lie!” she said quickly. “He invited me into 
his room.” 

Larry’s smile hardened. So that was the sort she 
was! Somehow he felt disappointed. 

The Englishman stared at her in pure amazement, 
then laughed. “Well, that’s a new dodge,” he said. 
“And a good one.” He turned to the clerk who was 
peering fearfully out of the elevator. “Didn’t you 
carry me up-stairs five minutes ago?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Wasn’t I alone?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“He met me in the corridor up-stairs—my room is 


14 Officer! 

on the same floor,” the girl put in quickly, “and in¬ 
vited me in.” 

“I found her in my room,” insisted the Englishman. 
“I didn’t know she was there until I started to turn 
on the light. She knocked my hand away from the 
switch, and tried to get out. I grabbed her, but she 
broke away.” 

Larry felt an instinctive antagonism to this man, 
but it was clear that he was telling the truth. It made 
Larry feel more kindly towards the girl in his grasp. 
He liked better to think of her as a thief than the 
other thing. 

The clerk was comically scandalised. “How did 
you get in here?” he demanded of the girl. “We 
don’t allow . . .” 

Larry silenced the feeble voice with a gesture of 
his big hand. To the girl he said, grinning once 
more—there was something delicious in the spectacle 
of her mixed boldness and terror, “If he invited you 
in, what started the trouble?” 

“I changed my mind,” she said instantly. “I didn’t 
like him.” 

The modest clerk gasped. 

“It won’t go, sister,” said the grinning Larry. 
“Under the circumstances a man doesn’t holler for 
the police.” 

“I couldn’t see whether it was a man or woman,” 
put in the Englishman. “I didn’t know how many 
there might be. That’s why I called for help.” 

“Sure,” said Larry. “Is anything missing?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Better go and look. I’ll wait.” 


An Arrest 


15 


The Englishman went back up-stairs. 

Aroused by a certain disturbing tone in the voices 
in the corridor, heads were now sticking out of the 
doors here and there. Seeing a policeman under the 
light, eyes opened wide, and agitated inquiries were 
addressed to the clerk. That poor timid soul, whose 
one idea it was never to let the truth become known 
under any circumstances, was seized with a panic. 

“It’s quite all right, Madam . . . Quite all right 
sir, I assure you. Merely a slight misunderstanding 
which can be quite satisfactorily explained ... No 
occasion for you to leave your rooms . . .” 

To Larry he whispered, sweating: “Get her down 
stairs, or you’ll have the whole house roused up.” 

The three of them went down in the elevator. A 
few of the guests more or less fully dressed, started 
to follow down the stairs, and the clerk was in despair. 

“You can’t wait here!” he said to Larry. “It’ll 
create a regular sensation. What can I tell these peo¬ 
ple? . . . Take her on to the station house. I’ll fol¬ 
low with Mr. Felix as soon as I can call the manager.” 

Larry was not at all averse to the idea of a prome¬ 
nade through the dark streets alone with his pretty 
prisoner. “All right,” he said. “If you and His Nibs 
get a taxi you’ll overtake us.” 

At the first move towards the door, a shiver passed 
through the girl. But she kept her head up. “I am 
a guest here,” she protested indignantly. “My room 
is 317. My name is Phillida Kenley. You can find 
out all about me. I have nothing to conceal.” 

They always talked in this strain. “Sure! Sure!” 
said Larry soothingly, and kept her moving. 


16 Officer! 

They started down the quiet street. Larry had a 
grasp of one of the slender arms, and was looking 
down at her with eyes full of delighted amusement. 
Such a little thing and so full of ginger! He believed 
her a thief, but he could not take it seriously. She 
was so different from the other thieves he had known. 
Besides, there was something about the Englishman, 
her accuser, that made his bristles rise. The man’s 
eyes were too close together. Larry had to take the 
girl in, of course, but he was all for her. 

He greatly wished to enter into a more human 
relation with his prisoner. He desired to make her 
talk. There was something about her voice, irrespec¬ 
tive of what she might be saying, something he had 
never heard in any voice before, that made the heart 
stir in his breast. Unfortunately under the circum¬ 
stances he couldn’t think of any suitable opening; he 
could only go on smiling at her. 

After awhile she said stiffly: “Can’t you let go of 
my arm?” 

“Sure,” he said, instantly doing so. “But I ought 
to tell you, if you think of making a break, running 
is my specialty.” 

Another silence. 

As they went on her courage seemed to ooze out 
of her a little. “I am a guest at the Colebrook,” she 
began again in a smaller voice; “you will find my things 
in my room . . 

“Sure, they’re always guests,” said Larry. He de¬ 
signed to be comforting, but his words were badly 
chosen. 


An Arrest 


17 


“Who are?” she asked. 

“Hotel thieves.” 

“Ohh!” she breathed, freshly indignant. 

They crossed Park Avenue, attracting curious stares 
from the passers-by, and struck into the quiet block 
beyond. Larry, bethinking himself that he was los¬ 
ing time, searched around in his mind for some safe 
and comfortable matter. He was not much of a diplo¬ 
mat. 

“You’re too pretty for this business,” he blurted out 
at last. “You don’t have to.” 

Silence from his companion. 

“Got anybody to go bail for you? I’ll telephone 
anywhere you want.” 

An involuntary groan broke from the girl. “Oh, 
what rotten luck! What rotten luck!” she murmured, 
more to herself than to him. “Everything is spoiled 
now!” 

“Sure,” said Larry sympathetically. “It isn’t worth 
it, I tell you. Chuck it!” 

“I’m not a thief,” she said sharply. 

“I’d like to believe you,” said Larry, “but . . .” 

As she offered no rejoinder to this, Larry supposed 
that he was making headway, beginning to soften her 
hard little heart perhaps. The thought pleased him 
greatly. He proceeded: 

“It isn’t the morals of it. Although I wear the 
uniform I don’t set up to be a moralist. It’s the com- 
monsense of it. A crook has no life at all. Always 
on the run. Got no friends. And bound to be caught 
in the end. You’ve made a bad start, sister, but . . .” 


18 Officer! 

She interrupted him by saying in a weary voice: 
“You’d be funny, if I didn’t have other things on my 
mind.” 

Larry stared at her. A hot flush crept up from his 
neck and made his scalp prickle. In all his experience 
no woman! had ever spoken to him in accents of such 
cool and detached scorn, and for a moment he could 
scarcely credit his ears. He could only stare at her. 
She was not paying the slightest attention to him. A 
crook! It was intolerable! 

“Ahh! You’d best keep a civil tongue in your 
head,” he growled. 

She made no answer. Larry’s rage and soreness 
struggled for expression. He pretended to himself 
that it was the insult to the uniform he resented, when 
all the time it was only the handsome youth’s vanity 
which had got a jolt. Soreness got the better of rage. 
Hadn’t he meant well by the girl? Wasn’t he trying 
to be friendly? And to have her turn on him like 
that! He wanted to crush her with a lofty rejoinder, 
but all he could get out was: 

“Ahh! A policeman is only human.” 

“That always means the worst, doesn’t it?” she said 
contemptuously. 

“I don’t get you,” he said stiffly. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

Larry’s Irish blood boiled over at that. “Ahh! 
you think you’re funny, don’t you?” he burst out hotly. 
“Let me tell you a person can get too funny for their 
own good! It’s nothing to me who you are or what 
you did. I just offer to be friendly, as you might to 
anybody, and you air your wit at my expense! You’d 


An Arrest 19 

better curb it before you go before the magistrate, or 
he’ll soak you the limit!” 

Larry’s injured feelings made no impression on 
her. All she said was, a little defiantly: “What can 
he do to me? I didn’t steal anything.” 

“Attempted burglary’s just about as bad,” said 
Larry. “It’s a felony. You can be sent to State’s 
prison for it.” 

She said nothing to that, but Larry, who had again 
siezed her slender arm in his anger, felt it tremble in 
his grasp. It was like a telegraph message to his 
breast. In spite of himself he softened. Muttering 
under his breath, he strove to keep his righteous anger 
burning, but it flickered and went out. 

“Ahh!” he growled, looking at her with eyes soft 
under his scowling brows. 

But she looked straight ahead. 

Crooked or straight she was maddeningly sweet. 
All Larry’s values were upset. He did not know what 
was happening to him. “Ahh!” he murmured. “For¬ 
get I’m a cop, and just look on me as a fellow.” 

“What for?” she said with weary indifference. 

“Ahh!” growled Larry, helplessly grinding his 
teeth. 


CHAPTER II 


THE RELEASE 


S Larry and the girl went up the steps of the sta- 



tion house a taxicab drew up before the door, 
and the Englishman got out. “Mr. Felix” the clerk 
had called him. The clerk had not come with him. 
He followed the other two in. 

Out of the corners of his eyes Larry sized him up 
with a growing antagonism. Mr. Felix’s excitement 
had calmed down, and his face was now as guarded 
and inexpressive as the typical Englishman’s. From 
shoes to hat he was turned out with a perfection that 
Larry (who was somewhat of a dresser himself in 
his off hours) realised with exasperation he would 
never attain to. A well-set-up, greyish-faced man, 
handsome in a regular, conventional manner; cold 
and correct; everything about him was antipathetic to 
Larry. What the young man chiefly resented was his 
air of aristocratic disdain. What the Hell! thought 
Larry, he’s in America now. 

Meanwhile the police Lieutenant at his high desk 
had looked up with a bored air. But a gleam of in¬ 
terest appeared in his disillusioned eyes as they took 
in Phillida. “Well?” he said. 

Larry said: “This man caught this girl ransacking 
his room in the Hotel Colebrook.” 

20 


The Release 21 

The Lieutenant dipped his pen. “Name?” he 
asked Phillida, preparing to write in his blotter. 

The girl had become very pale. She was fighting 
hard to keep up her courage, sticking out her chin 
defiantly, and biting her lower lip to keep it from 
trembling. But like a frightened child she cast a 
stricken glance at the rear door which led to the cells. 

Before she could answer the Englishman spoke up. 
“I beg your pardon.” He spoke correctly and beauti¬ 
fully. He had adopted an ingratiating air towards 
the Lieutenant. He could be very agreeable when he 
chose. But his eyes were cold and guarded. “I am 
afraid a mistake may have been made.” 

“Hey?” cried Larry, quite forgetting the decorum 
due before the desk. 

The girl too stared at the Englishman wildly. 

“It is not quite correct to say that I discovered her 
in my room,” Mr. Felix went on blandly. “I said I 
thought that she had attempted to rob me.” 

“What’s the difference?” said Larry. 

“I suspect now that I may have been mistaken.” 

“What were the circumstances?” asked the Lieuten¬ 
ant. 

“I returned to my room in the hotel a few minutes 
after half-past ten,” said Mr. Felix with the utmost 
self-possession. “As I was unlocking my door this 
lady passed along the corridor. I looked at her and 
she looked at me . . . with a smile rather. I invited 
her in . . . I am not attempting to excuse myself. 
It is no crime, I suppose. She came in. Just inside 
the door she made a movement that suggested she 
was drawing a gun on me. I have heard of your fe- 


22 Officer! 

male highwaymen. I attempted to disarm her as I 
thought, but she broke away from me. In my excite¬ 
ment I ran to the window and called for the police. 
But upon thinking it over I am satisfied I may have 
been mistaken. No gun was found upon her.” 

As he listened to this cool tale Larry progressed 
from astonishment to violent anger. His face crim¬ 
soned, and his blue eyes shot forth steely sparks. The 
man’s devilish aplomb infuriated him. All the time 
you could tell that the Englishman was lying by the 
shape of his mouth. 

“Lieutenant, that’s not the story he told me!” cried 
Larry. “He said w T hen he opened the door of his 
room he found the girl inside!” 

“You misunderstood me, officer,” said Mr. Felix 
squarely meeting Larry’s blazing eyes with his cold 
grey ones. “She went in with me.” 

“Misunderstood nothing!” cried Larry. “The clerk 
heard what you told me. Where is he?” 

“He agreed with me that it would be better to let 
the whole matter drop.” 

“Well, I’m not going to let it drop!” 

“What is it to you, Harker?” said the Lieutenant 
mildly. “No blame is attaching to you. You did your 
duty.” 

“He’s lying!” insisted Larry. “You can see it!” 

“What is it to us if he is,” said the Lieutenant 
philosophically. “If he doesn’t want to lay a charge 
against the girl it’s just a job less for us. The cells 
are full enough already.” 

Larry’s anger was understandable enough. No man 
likes to be made a fool of before his officer. But 


23 


The Release 

there was a good deal more than that in it. There 
was an unaccountable tearing pain at his breast. That 
little thing with her fine brave eyes snooping about 
a hotel corridor smiling in a certain way at men! A 
lie! A lie! Larry felt like killing the Englishman 
for uttering it. 

How could he explain all this to the Lieutenant? 
He was further confounded by the fact that the girl 
instead of repudiating the slander, welcomed it of 
course. After her first glance of astonishment at Mr. 
Felix, the colour came back in her cheeks and the shine 
to her eyes; her back stiffened, one could almost say 
that she began to look amused. 

“That is exactly what I told you,” she said to Larry. 

“It’s a lie, anyhow!” cried Larry, sore and be¬ 
wildered. “You went into that room to steal some¬ 
thing. I know it!” 

“Whisht, Harker,” said the Lieutenant in reproof. 
“Don’t be so hard on the girl. You can see she’s not 
a professional. Give her the benefit of the doubt. 

The benefit of the doubt! The situation was too 
much for Larry. He turned away, impotently grind¬ 
ing his teeth. 

“Whichever way it was, Miss,” said the Lieuten¬ 
ant to Phillida, “if you’ll accept a word of advice from 
an older man, you’ll stay out of strange gentlemen’s 
rooms, whether asked in or not. You may go. 

His homily fell on deaf ears. The girl’s eyes 
turned desirously towards the door, but she cast a 
doubtful look on the Englishman and hesitated. 

The Lieutenant was in turn addressing a reproof 
to that person, but the worthy officer was impressed 


24 Officer! 

by Mr. Felix’s air of rank and authority, and the 
reproof was a mild one. “Next time I hope you 11 
think twice before making a charge, sir, and when you 
do make one, see it through.” 

“I am extremely sorry, Lieutenant,” said Mr. 
Felix blandly. “I would be only too glad to make it 
up to this young lady if there was any way in which I 
might do so.” 

“I dare say, I dare say,” said the Lieutenant dryly. 

“My taxi is waiting outside,” Mr. Felix went on 
to Phillida. “Perhaps you will accept my escort back 
to the hotel?” 

The girl shrank from him involuntarily. “No, no, 
thank you,” she said nervously. 

“Please,” he said with his most winning air. 

“I shall not leave here until after you have gone,” 
she said a little hysterically. 

Larry’s sore heart was somewhat eased by this. It 
suggested that there was really nothing between them. 
The man, having discovered that he had lost nothing, 
was now disposed to make up to so pretty a thief. 
And she had turned him down. So Larry undertook 
to explain the baffling situation, without entirely be¬ 
lieving his own explanation. 

Mr. Felix bowed to Phillida with entire self-pos¬ 
session, and with slighter salutations to the Lieutenant 
and even to Larry, left the station house. A moment 
later they heard the taxicab drive away. 

The girl then, without a look at either officer, 
quickly slipped through the door. 

“Hm! Queer piece of goods that,” remarked the 
Lieutenant. “Something out of the common.” 


The Release 


25 


His relaxed and gossipy air suggested that he was 
expecting to hear Larry’s further ideas about the case. 
But Larry within his breast felt a tug as if a high 
powered magnet had moved away. “Well, I guess 
it’s back to the pavement for mine,” he said a little 
too quickly. 

The Lieutenant grinned. 

Larry, highly self-conscious, added with the idea of 
saving his face: “I’ll just keep an eye on her as she 
goes through the streets.” 

“Well, if you asked me I’d say she was able to 
look after herself,” said the Lieutenant cynically. 

Larry was already outside the door. Once out of 
the Lieutenant’s view he made no bones about con¬ 
cealing his eager haste. The girl was about two hun¬ 
dred feet ahead of him. For the sake of his own 
peace of mind he felt that he had to clear up this mat¬ 
ter. Either she was an out and out bad one or else 
just a common thief. Whichever it was, it might have 
been asked what had a policeman to do with her, 
personally? But Larry did not ask it of himself. He 
was not thinking at all. Under the pull of that 
magnet ahead he was as helpless as any particle of 
iron. 

He overtook her. She gave him the perfectly blank 
look that one turns to discover the cause of a sound. 
It cut the ground from under his feet. How was he 
to explain his own eagerness? The tongue clave to 
the roof of his mouth. 

But as he walked along beside her, she looked at 
him again in an annoyed way there was no mistaking. 
He either had to fall back, or walk on ahead, or 


26 Officer! 

explain himself. “I’ll walk along with you to see 
you’re not annoyed,” he said gruffly. 

“Thanks, it’s not necessary,” she said indifferently. 

She was much more self-assured now. She was free, 
and her terrors were laid. More than ever she made 
it clear that she did not give a hang for the policeman 
beside her. But Larry’s most conspicuous character¬ 
istic was doggedness. Let her discourage him as she 
liked, his feelings would find utterance. 

“I don’t believe that yarn you told,” he blurted out. 
“Even if he did bear you out. You’re not that kind 
of a girl. Anybody could see it.” 

“Thanks,” she said in an amused way that rasped 
Larry’s vanity horribly. 

“But you got a hard nature!” he cried, exasperated. 

“A good thing to have, don’t you think?” she said 
lightly. “Especially for a woman. In this town.” 

“You don’t have to be hard to them as would be 
friendly.” 

“You have to make sure of your friends first.” 

Larry had an uneasy feeling that her answers would 
always go him one better. It occurred to him that it 
would be advisable to lead up to things with a little gen¬ 
eral conversation. “You’re right, this is a bad town,” 
he said affably. “The half of it is not known. I could 
tell you things. Of course in my position I see the 
worst of it.” 

“Naturally,” she said with the amused look that 
made him grind his teeth. It dried up all his conver¬ 
sation. 

They came to the corner of Lexington Avenue, and 
the girl paused. “I leave you here,” she said. 


27 


The Release 

“Our way is the same,” protested Larry. 

“I am not going back to that hotel,” she said quickly. 

“Where can you go ... at this time of night?” 

“I’ll stay with a friend all night.” 

“Where is it?” demanded Larry. 

She stared. “Well ... If you must know it’s in 
Thirty-sixth Street.” 

“That’s only a few blocks out of my way,” said 
Larry, turning down town. 

“You have to get back to your post.” 

“Oh, they give you a little leeway when you make 
an arrest.” 

“I don’t want you,” she said clearly. 

“I’m coming anyhow,” said Larry doggedly. 

She shrugged and started briskly down Lexington 
Avenue. 

They walked in silence for a while. Things were 
going on furiously within Larry, as was evidenced by 
his continual swift glances down at her. So desir¬ 
able and so exasperating! He felt that he could not 
recover his manhood until in some way he forced her 
to regard him. Meanwhile she looked undeviatingly 
ahead. 

“I suppose you’re still sore at me for taking you 
in,” he said at last. 

“Not at all,” she answered instantly. “You only 
did what you had to do.” 

“But you think I cut a pretty poor figure in the af¬ 
fair,” he said sorely. 

“That never occurred to me,” she said in accents 
transparently honest. 

It made Larry sorer than ever. “Ahh!” he growled. 


28 Officer! 

“Why can’t we be a little friendly?” he presently 
demanded. 

She did not answer, and his anger rose high. “I 
asked a civil question.” 

“I didn’t answer it because I didn’t wish to hurt 
your feelings,” she said coolly. “Why should we be 
friends?” 

“Ahh! it’s no harm,” he protested, aware of the 
feebleness of his own words. “A friend is a friend. 
It’s good to have friends.” 

Again no answer. 

“I asked you isn’t it good to have friends?” he 
demanded. 

“Certainly. But you force me to remind you that 
one has a right to choose one’s friends.” 

“Oh, excuse me,” said Larry like a boy intolerably 
hurt. 

But he continued to walk along beside her. 

In Thirty-sixth Street she stopped before a smallish 
brown-stone house with a high stoop, one of twenty 
in a row exactly alike. A little ticket pasted along¬ 
side the door suggested that it was let out in furnished 
rooms. 

“This is the house,” she said. “You needn’t wait.” 

“How are you going to get in?” asked Larry gruffly. 
For the outer doors of the vestibule were closed, and 
no light showed in any window. 

She threw back her head and whistled like a boy 
or a bird, an intricate, rippling call that somehow in 
that street of ugly darkened houses suggested the 
open, sunny fields. In spite of his soreness Larry 
smiled, enchanted., 


The Release 29 

“Who taught you that call?” he asked involuntarily. 

“The meadow-lark,” she said dryly. 

She repeated the call. Finally from a window in 
the top of the house a head stuck out and a gentle 
voice came floating down. 

“Is that you, Phil?” 

“Yes,” answered the girl. “Let me in, will you?” 

“Surely,” said the voice in undisguised gladness, 
and the head was quickly withdrawn. 

“Please go,” said Phillida to Larry. “I don’t want 
to have to explain a police escort to my friend.” 

To go! To lose touch with her altogether. Larry’s 
heart went down like a stone. He forgot all his sore¬ 
ness. “All right,” he said, desperately anxious, 
strangely humble for him, “but . . . but . . . are 
you going to stop here awhile?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Is that your real name, Phillida Kenley?” 

“Yes.” 

He plunged stumblingly on. “I know you don t 
think very much of me . . . you saw me at a dis¬ 
advantage to-night ... I wouldn’t force myself on 
you . . . But maybe if I had half a chance I might 
make good with you ... If you d let me come to 
see you without my uniform . . . maybe you’d un¬ 
derstand a policeman can be a man too, like other 
men . . .” 

He was interrupted by—her laughter. She tried to 
stop it. She bit her lip, but her eyes became liquid 
with mirth, and she exploded. She put her handker¬ 
chief to her mouth, but it still broke out in ungovern¬ 
able silvery peals. “I’m so sorry ... so sorry l she 


30 Officer! 

stuttered breathlessly. “But I can’t help it! . . . 
Oh!” She ran up the steps. 

With burning cheeks and pounding ears, Larry 
walked stiffly away. 


CHAPTER III 


RE-ARREST 

O woman had ever laughed at Larry like that. 

To appreciate the effect it had on him, one must 
bear in mind that for years he had been accustomed to 
the homage of the sex. The fact that she had tried 
to suppress her laughter made it the more devastating; 
for it suggested that she was really amused, and not 
just trying to get back at him. No matter how fast 
he walked he could not escape the horrid sound of it. 
Through one street and another he went unheeding, 
blind with rage. 

Of course he would not admit to himself that it 
was he, Larry, she was laughing at. He made believe 
to ascribe it to the uniform he wore. u . . . If she has 
such a contempt for the police she must be a crook all 
right. That stands to reason ... A common thief! 
I’d never run after such a one. I despise her! I ought 
to put her behind the bars where she belongs. Oh, God! 
I’d like to lock her up! That would stop her laugh¬ 
ing, I guess! ... A crook laughing like that at a 
decent fellow! The nerve of it! That’s my only of¬ 
fence in her eyes. She despises me because I’m on 
the square! . . .” 

But these comforting assurances failed altogether 
to stanch the wound in his vanity. 

31 


32 Officer! 

By and by Larry found himself patrolling his 
beat again, without any very clear notion of how he 
got there. Passing the Colebrook in due course, he 
scowled at it as if he would force the very bricks to 
yield up the secret of what had taken place within. 
His mind was busy with schemes of revenge. 

. . Maybe I can persuade the English guy to lay 
a charge against her after all. She turned him down. 
Very likely he’s sore against her now. I’ll see him in 
the morning. . . . As soon as I’m off duty I’ll inquire 
around the hotel. I ought to be able to turn up some 
new evidence. . . . Anyhow I can force that young 
clerk to testify. The management ought to take up 
the case. It’s their duty to prosecute hotel thieves to 
protect their guests. . . .” And so on. And so on. 

But his impatience would not brook the long wait 
until morning. He went into the hotel. The same 
young clerk was on duty alone in the lobby, still some¬ 
what scary as a result of his experience. He was the 
sort of person who runs ahead to agree with everybody. 
He had previously agreed with Mr. Felix that it would 
be better not to prosecute the girl, and he now agreed 
with Larry that the girl ought to be prosecuted. 
They discussed the case at length. Larry was in that 
state of mind when anybody’s sympathy is sweet and 
comforting. 

“Maybe she did take something out of Mr. Felix’s 
room, and threw it away afterwards,” suggested the 
clerk. 

“Couldn’t have been much,” said Larry. “I was 
watching her every minute.” He pondered upon this 
possibility. “When I brought her down to the lobby 


Re-arrest 33 

she sat in that chair yonder, as if her knees had given 
under her. . . . Maybe she was bluffing . . .” 

The chair was a large padded affair upholstered in 
tapestry. Larry suddenly went to it and slipped his 
fingers around the edge of the seat. They came in 
contact with a small hard object that he drew forth 
in some excitement—a key! 

“Does that look like one of the room keys?” he de¬ 
manded. 

The clerk with gaping eyes nodded. 

“If it opens the Englishman’s door,” cried Larry 
in triumph, “and if I can prove where she got it, I 
have her!” 

At the earliest possible hour next morning Larry, 
now dressed in plain clothes, was back at the Cole- 
brook. He was off duty, therefore his own master 
for the moment. There was another young clerk be¬ 
hind the desk. Without attempting to take this one 
into his confidence, Larry asked for Mr. Felix. A 
disappointment awaited him. 

“He just left.” 

“What!” 

“Paid his bill and left.” 

“Where has he gone?” 

The clerk shrugged. “When I asked for a forward¬ 
ing address he said nothing would be coming here 
for him.” 

Ugly new suspicions thrust up their heads in Larry’s 
breast. “. . . There is more in this than I thought! 
. . . There is something between them. Not a rob¬ 
bery at all. Still, there’s the key! . . 


34 Officer! 

A knife seemed to be thrust in and turned around 
in his already smarting wound. Oh, the hateful 
charming creature! 

Larry interviewed the manager of the Colebrook, 
a dapper little man of the world in the Continental 
style, Mr. Flavelle. Larry explained who he was, and 
showed the key he had found. Without exactly ly¬ 
ing, he contrived to convey the impression that his 
Captain was backing him in this further investigation. 
They went up to the third floor and found that the 
key did indeed fit the lock of the room lately occupied 
by Mr. Felix. Mr. Flavelle began to be impressed. 

At first he declined to prosecute. Nothing had been 
stolen, the guest was gone, better to let the matter 
drop. Larry, with an eloquence that surprised him¬ 
self a little, set out to persuade him. Lie cunningly 
intimated that the police were now bound to see the 
matter through anyway, and it would show up Mr. 
Flavelle in rather a bad light if he declined to appear 
against one who had clearly tried to rob a guest of his 
hotel. Mr. Flavelle hesitated. He finally said he 
would appear against the girl if Larry could make 
out a fair case against her. 

They took the chief clerk, Mr. Alden, into their dis¬ 
cussion. Mr. Alden had a distinct recollection both 
of Mr. Felix and of Miss Kenley. The former had 
been in the hotel two days, the young woman but a 
single day. Mr. Felix had room 309, the young woman 
room 317. Upon prodding his recollection Mr. Al¬ 
den brought up a highly significant circumstance. On 
the day before Miss Kenley had asked for the key 
of room 309, and he had passed it to her without 


Re-arrest 


35 


thinking. A moment or two later she had returned 
it with apologies, saying that she had mistaken the 
number of her room. Hers was 317. 

“She took an impression of it then!” exclaimed 
Larry. 

“Undoubtedly!” they agreed. Mr. Flavelle began 
to grow keen in the pursuit. 

“Know anything about this fellow Felix?” asked 
Larry. 

They shook their heads. A man of wealth and 
position unquestionably, but he had volunteered no in¬ 
formation about himself. Even the labels had been 
removed from his luggage. Mr. Flavelle, whose busi¬ 
ness it was to keep track of people of wealth and 
position all over the world, had never heard the name 
Felix as a surname among the eminent. 

“An assumed name perhaps,” suggested Larry. 

“Very likely.” 

“Perhaps there was some previous association be¬ 
tween the two,” suggested Mr. Alden. “Maybe it 
was not just an ordinary attempt at theft.” 

This suggestion, which bore out Larry’s secret sus¬ 
picion, caused him a nasty pang. He would not ad¬ 
mit it before the two men. “Anyway, a thief is a 
thief,” he said doggedly. 

“Certainly, a thief is a thief.” 

“And if I can find the locksmith who made her the 
key, we’ll have a complete case against her,” said 
Larry. 

In brief, he did find the locksmith in the neighbour¬ 
hood of the hotel. This man unhesitatingly acknowl¬ 
edged the key as his handiwork; described Phillida 


36 Officer! 

Kenley to the life (“Swell-lookin’ girl with a proud 
black eye. Looked as if she’d take no nonsense ) 
and told how she had come to him asking how she 
and her sister could get a duplicate key to their flat. 
They couldn’t spare the one key they had, she had 
explained, because they needed it to go in and out with. 
The locksmith gave her a piece of wax, and showed 
her how to take an impression of the key. Later she 
had returned with the impression, and he made her 
the key. 

Larry took his witnesses to the police station, and 
a charge was duly laid against the girl. Larry’s chief, 
•Captain Craigin, while somewhat astonished by such 
zealous activities in a patrolman off duty, was approv¬ 
ing of course. After the witnesses had left, he asked 
curiously: 

“What started you off on this, Harker?” 

“Everybody was lying last night, sir,” said Larry 
with a self-conscious virtuous air. “I thought it was 
up to me to turn up the truth.” 

“Hm! yes, of course!” said Captain Craigin, not 
altogether convinced. “You say you know where the 
girl is?” 

“Yes, sir, unless she has skipped since twelve o’clock 
last night. That’s hardly likely because she wouldn’t 
be expecting any further trouble.” 

“Very well, go get her.” 

Larry, in uniform, set off for the Thirty-sixth Street 
house with his breast burning with triumph. But not 
a happy sort of triumph. There was an ugly twist 
to his lips that suggested an inward torment; the sort 
of torment men invite when, finding themselves in a 


Re-arrest 


37 


false position, they determinedly burrow in deeper. 
As he went he pictured the scene ahead of him. There 
was a horrid exultation in the thought of reducing that 
delicately laughing girl to a state of terror again. . . . 
Laugh at the police, will she? I’ll show her! . . . 

At the same time he was throbbing with an extraor¬ 
dinary anticipation of joy merely because he was go¬ 
ing to see her again. 

In Thirty-sixth Street from afar off he perceived 
a taxicab standing in the street about where the house 
would be. A slight anxiety attacked him, and he 
quickened his pace. He was still half a block away 
when the door of the house above the cab opened, 
and a man ran down the steps. Even at the distance 
it was impossible to mistake that slender, elegantly- 
clad figure. It was Mr. Felix. 

Larry shouted, and started to run. 

Mr. Felix cast a startled look in his direction, 
sprang into the cab, and was swiftly driven away. 
Larry was too far off to obtain the license number. 

The smouldering suspicion that scorched Larry’s 
breast blazed up furiously. It was no longer sus¬ 
picion, it was assurance. Under his breath he cursed 
the man horribly, without obtaining any relief. There 
was something between them! Something crooked. 
She had fallen for the foxy, sneering Englishman. 
That girl with her fine straight eyes! . . . What a 
fool, what a fool to let it get him like this! God! 
how it hurt! She wasn’t worth it! Anyhow he’d 
break up their game whatever it was! If he only knew 
what there was between them, maybe he could drag 
her out like the barb she was in his flesh! 


38 


Officer! 

But it was a perfectly wooden-faced Larry that 
presented himself at the door of the furnished-room 
house. The number was 138A. The door was opened 
to him by the landlady herself, an odd-looking woman 
in a red flannel dress with black crescents printed on 
it. The redness accentuated the paleness of her 
flabby face with its pale lips, pale eyes and pale hair. 
Her open mouth revealed curiously pale gums. See¬ 
ing the policeman in her vestibule her face offered a 
study in conflicting emotions; she was scared, she was 
preparing to be indignant; she was slyly aware too, 
of the young man’s uncommon good looks. 

“Is Miss Phillida Kenley here?” asked Larry stiffly. 

“She doesn’t live here . . .” the woman began. 

“I didn’t ask you that,” said Larry. “She’s here 
with a friend.” 

“What do you want of her?” the woman asked 
breathlessly. 

“That’s for me to tell her,” said Larry. 

The pale woman started up-stairs with many a 
backward look. 

Presently, high up in the house, Larry heard a swift, 
light trip-trip, trip-trip, trip-trip start on the stairs. 
His heart set up a furious beating, and his breath 
failed him a little. He silently cursed her for the 
power she had over him, and his hungry eyes fastened 
on the turn of the stairs where she would appear. 
Like a bird she came down through the house with that 
funny little double hop. She turned into sight, and 
his heart seemed to go leaping up to meet her. Let 
him accuse her of what he would, his subconsciousness 
recognised in that high look of hers something worthy 


Re-arrest 


39 


of being worshipped. And the little thing, so ter¬ 
ribly sweet, so plucky, so dear to him! The sight of her 
simply slew him. He could have grovelled at the bot¬ 
tom step and let her trip down over his neck! 

Man is a complex animal. As she came close, and 
Larry could read the expression on her face, his anger 
blazed up all over again. For . she looked a little an¬ 
noyed, though trying to conceal it politely—just the 
way a nice girl might be supposed to look, finding her¬ 
self still pestered by a man she thought she had got 
rid of. . . I’ll show her!” he said to himself. 

“Good morning,” said Phillida with a cool upward 
inflection meaning: What do you want? 

“Sorry, you’ll have to come with me,” said Larry. 

Her eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?” 
she demanded. 

“You’re under arrest,” said Larry bluntly. 

Phillida blenched a little, and put her hand back 
of her against the wall. But this was far from satis¬ 
fying Larry’s longing to humiliate her. Her eyes 
never quailed. The queer-looking woman in the red 
dress who had come clumsily running down after her, 
was making a picture of dismay and horror a few 
steps higher up. But she seemed to be enjoying it in 
her way. 

“I thought that matter was settled,” said Phillida 
firmly. 

“New evidence has turned up.” 

“What sort of evidence?” 

“The key with which you entered the man’s room 
has been found. Also the locksmith who made you 
that key.” 


40 Officer! 

“Oh, Miss Kenley, whatever have you been up to?” 
gasped the pale woman. 

Still the girl refused to be crushed or (what Larry 
most desired) to beg for mercy. She bit her lip, and 
her head went down for a moment. She appeared to 
be thinking hard. When she raised it, her expression 
was calm; there was even the flicker of amusement 
that so exasperated Larry. It was not natural! he 
told himself. 

“Oh, all right,” she said coolly. “It doesn’t matter 
now.” 

Larry took this somehow, as a reference to the 
Englishman’s visit, and experienced a fresh pang of 
jealousy. 

“I’ll get my hat,” said Phillida, turning to mount 
again. 

“Sorry, I’ll have to go with you,” said Larry. 

“Why?” 

“You might go over the roofs.” 

She laughed briefly. “I hadn’t thought of that. 
... I would rather not have my friend frightened by 
the sight of you. She is not well.” 

“I’ll get your hat, Miss Kenley,” said the landlady 
breathlessly. 

“No,” said Phillida. “Doreen would insist on com¬ 
ing down to see what was the matter. That would 
be worse. ... I suppose she’s got to know. . . . 
Come along if you must,” she added to Larry. 

She went back up-stairs almost as quickly as she had 
come down, and Larry in his thick-soled dumpers was 
compelled to foot it nimbly behind her, feeling very 


Re-arrest 41 

ridiculous. Up three flights. Phillida’s friend oc¬ 
cupied the front hall room on the top floor. 

She was at the door, and backed into the room at 
their approach. She was smaller than Phillida. 
(Phillida it might be remarked, was an average size 
girl, and it was only a fancy of the big Larry’s to 
think of her as a little thing.) Doreen was a piteous 
little thing with golden hair bobbed at her thin neck, 
and blue eyes much too big for her face. Her cheeks 
were significantly hollowed, almost transparent. Tu¬ 
bercular, Larry thought, with an anxious glance at 
Phillida’s firm, pale cheeks; they shouldn’t sleep to¬ 
gether. 

At the sight of the brass buttons Doreen began to 
tremble. Phillida went to her swiftly. Clearly in this 
association Phillida was the oak and Doreen the ivy. 
Observing the tender affection that united them, it 
was impossible for Larry to believe that Phillida was 
all bad, much as he wished to. Phillida took Doreen 
in her arms. Larry remained at the door of the tiny 
room, feeling a good deal like a brute. 

“Oh, what’s the matter?” gasped Doreen. 

“Nothing at all, dear” said Phillida equably. 
“This is the officer who walked home with me last 
night.” 

“What does he want now?” 

“Oh, it seems some new evidence has turned up as 
they call it. I shall have to go and explain. 

“He’s arresting you!” 

“Not at all! They’ve just asked me to come and 
explain.” 


42 Officer! 

The blonde girl’s voice scaled up hysterically. 
“They’re going to lock you up!” 

“Now, Doreen . . . now, Doreen,” murmured 
Phillida, as one would seek to quiet a child. “You 
know very well that everything is all right now. 

Larry pricked up his ears. 

“He’s going to lock you up!” wailed Doreen wit- 
lessly. 

“They cannot do anything to me unless he makes 
a complaint,” said Phillida significantly. “Is that 
likely now?” 

What would not Larry have given to know what 
was behind her words! 

Doreen was deaf to them. She tore herself out of 
Phillida’s arms. “You’re just trying to soothe me!” 
she cried. “You would say anything to soothe me. 
How do I know what the police are going to do?” 
She suddenly came to Larry. “What do you want 
with her?” she demanded. 

Larry, horribly disconcerted, stood there like a 
wooden image. 

Doreen of course placed the worst construction on 
his silence. “You see! You see!” she cried. “He’s 
going:J:o lock you up!” 

Phillida was pulling her hat on before the mirror. 
“Well, if he does,” she said composedly, “he’ll soon 
have to let me out again.” 

Doreen addressed Larry wildly. “She’s not a bad 
girl! Can’t you see it? Can’t you see it? She’s the 
finest girl . . . the finest . . . the best friend . . . 
the honestest and bravest and kindest . . .” Sobs 
choked her utterance. 


43 


Re-arrest 

Larry listened to this standing stock-still and scowl¬ 
ing. This poor girl was nothing to him. He had a 
strong young creature’s natural disgust of illness, and 
he hated to think of this broken creature’s being as¬ 
sociated with the perfect Phillida. She made him un¬ 
comfortable and he blamed her for it. He only longed 
to have this scene over with. 

Phillida flung an arm around her friend and drew 
her away to the window. “Hush! Hush! You must 
not excite yourself like this,” she murmured. It is 
so bad for you! You know that everything is all right 
now.” 

“I will not be quiet!” cried Doreen, struggling 
feebly. “I will not let him lock you up. I will tell 
him the whole truth. I will tell him . . .” 

Phillida clapped a quick hand over her friend’s 
mouth. “Ah, be quiet!” she murmured urgently, but 
tender still. “You’ll spoil everything! They can’t do 
anything to me now. If there should be any danger, 
then you can speak. But to the proper person. Don’t 
blurt it out to a mere policeman!” 

Larry’s face slowly turned a bricky red and paled 
again. The girls paid no attention to him. They were 
by the window with their backs turned. 

Under the soothing of Phillida’s voice, Doreen’s 
febrile excitement suddenly dissolved in tears. Well, 
anyway, let me go with you,” she pleaded brokenly. 

“No! No!” said Phillida, “you know that would 
only make you worse. You must stay here quietly until 
it is time to start for the train.” 

“Do you think I will go away not knowing what 
has happened to you?” cried Doreen. 


44 Officer! 

“You shall be told everything,” said Phillida pa¬ 
tiently. “As soon as I have gone, call him up and 
tell him what has happened. He will know what to 
do.” 

(“Him! Him! Him!” thought the wooden-faced 
Larry. “. . . Oh, damn him!”) 

Doreen, yielding to the stronger nature, flung her¬ 
self weeping on the bed. 

Phillida came quickly towards the door. “Come!” 
she said peremptorily to Larry. She closed the door 
softly after them. 

Larry followed her down stairs in great relief. He 
could not but admire the girl’s fine composure and 
readiness. . . . Whatever happened, this one would 
never lose her grip, and bawl and carry on, he said 
to himself. Involuntarily, the thought found words. 

“You’re all right!” he said. 

She surprised him again. She looked over her 
shoulder and he saw that her face was all broken up, 
the tears running down. “Ah, be quiet, you fool!” she 
said angrily. “You don’t know what you’re doing! 

. . . She’s just at the turning-point. This may kill 
her!” 

The astonished Larry’s mouth opened. He turned 
red and hot again. The nerve of it! “Well, Miss, 
if it comes to that,” he fairly stuttered, “what do you 
want to break into a man’s room in the middle of the 
night for?” 

She was not listening. He followed her down in 
a great fume. 

She went down slowly, and by the time they reached 
the bottom, she had recovered her composure. She 


Re-arrest 


45 


paused to bid good-bye to the woman waiting there. 
Larry’s anger quickly failed him. There was some¬ 
thing so fine about her! He could not bear to think 
of subjecting her to the humiliation of being marched 
through the streets by daylight. In some queer way 
the humiliation promised to be his own instead of 
hers. 

“Have you got a telephone?” he asked the landlady 
gruffly. 

The woman, weeping like a fountain, mutely nodded. 

“Then call a taxi,” said Larry. 

Phillida looked at him defiantly. No more tears. 
“Do you expect me to pay for it?” she asked. 

Larry could almost have struck her. “Ahh!” he 
growled savagely. “Did I ask you to?” 

The taxicab duly appeared. They drove almost the 
whole way to the police station without exchanging 
a word. Phillida looked out of the window, and 
Larry looked at Phillida. These silences worked 
havoc in the young man. The last of his defences 
against her were undermined. The sleeves of her 
dress came but to her elbow, and one bare forearm 
was lying negligently in her lap, the palm of her 
hand turned down. Larry was astonished at the pure 
line of her arm, and the lovely way in which it merged 
into her quiet hand. He had never noticed such 
things before. She had so many beauties ! The deli¬ 
cate curve of her cheek as one looked at it obliquely 
from behind; the soft swell of her throat. It made 
him ache. 

And while he ached he raged because she, who had 
so entangled him, remained herself quite free. Look- 


46 Officer! 

ing out of the window like that as if she were alone in 
the cab! He burned to embrace her, to strike her, 
anything to make her aware of him. Nothing of the 
sort happened of course. He simply sat and glowered 
at her with a hurt look in his blue eyes. He couldn’t 
understand why he had to be punished like this. He 
wasn’t a bad sort of a fellow, he told himself. He 
meant well. 

Finally she said without turning her head: “Will 
they lock me up in the police station?” 

“Yes,” mumbled Larry. 

“How long shall I have to stay there?” 

“I suppose you’ll be taken to the Woman’s Court 
this afternoon.” 

“Then what?” 

“You’ll probably be remanded to the Tombs for 
trial.” 

“Locked up again?” 

“Unless you can get bail.” 

She nodded. 

“Can you get bail?” Larry asked anxiously. 

“Oh, I think so,” she said confidently. 

Him again! 

When Larry led her into the station house he had 
again that extraordinary feeling that he was the real 
culprit. Phillida carried her head high, while he 
dreaded to face the glances of his fellow officers. But 
these glances were all for the girl. She was like a light 
in that place. Even Captain Craigin made an occa¬ 
sion to come out of his office to look her over. 

Larry’s feelings were leading him a strange dance. 


47 


Re-arrest 

For the last twelve hours he had been hotly bent on 
bringing this girl in, and now that he had accomplished 
his purpose, he was filled with a horror of himself. 
There was a different Lieutenant at the desk. The 
necessary formalities having been quickly accomplished, 
it was Larry’s duty to conduct Phillida to the rear door, 
and hand her over to the warder of the cells. He did 
so like a man in a dream. 

The warder was a superannuated officer who had 
been given this sinecure. He was a harmless old fel¬ 
low, but his pendulous cheeks, and the red rims falling 
away from his eyes, gave him a curiously repulsive as¬ 
pect. His repulsiveness had never occurred to Larry 
until the old man looked at Phillida. Then Larry s 
hands involuntarily clenched in the desire to strike him 
away from the girl. But it was too late. He had to 
hand her over. 

Larry remained standing at the door watching the 
warder conduct Phillida down a few steps, across a nar¬ 
row paved court and thence into the separate building 
that contained the cells. His head was spinning dizzy- 
ingly; his surroundings no longer seemed real. He 
had to fight a crazy impulse in himself to whirl around 
and make a wreck of the place, to defy them all, that 
he too might be carried to a cell, struggling blindly. 
He felt a loathing for the blue coat and brass buttons 
that had been his pride. What had he to do with 
them? He belonged out there! 

But he never moved a muscle. After he had lost 
sight of them, he remained there listening with strained 
ears. The faint clang of the great steel gate within 


48 Officer! 

the cell house reached his ears, and his heart seemed 
to drop into a pit. “. . . Oh, God! what have I 
done?” he asked himself. 

Later, in the patrolmen’s common room, young Matt 
McArdle who was Larry’s special pal, evinced a desire 
to talk about the case. 

“How come you to bring her in a second time after 
she was discharged last night?” he asked. 

Larry looked at him moodily. In his utter distrac¬ 
tion of mind he felt that he had to have help. And 
Matt was a friend. “Matt, I believe I made a mis¬ 
take,” he said slowly. 

Matt was an honest fellow, and a real friend, but 
not knowing what was going on inside Larry, the lat¬ 
ter’s expression of awful solemnity struck him as 
funny. “Oh, well, it ain’t a hanging matter,” he said 
with a laugh. 

“Sure!” said Larry. His desire to confide in his 
friend suddenly dried up. He realized the great truth 
that in a matter of this sort, nobody on earth could 
give him any help. He had to see it through alone. 


CHAPTER IV 


ESCAPE 


HE “wagon” called for them at half-past two that 



afternoon. It was already well filled with women 
prisoners gathered from several precincts, and the offi¬ 
cers who were to appear against them in court. Larry 
and Phillida were the only passengers from their sta¬ 


tion, 


The motor-van backed to the curb, and the inevita¬ 
ble children gathered to see. Up in the front there 
was one of those battered and utterly reckless old har¬ 
ridans who are the policeman’s bane. As Phillida 
climbed in she sang out: 

“Hello, deary! You are a fresh peach to be sure! 
What did they take you up for?” 

“Be quiet there!” cried Larry indignantly. 

“Now, Adonis!” drawled the old soul derisively. 

There was a general laugh which greatly encouraged 
the humorist. 

“A pretty boy like you oughtn’t to be rude to the 
ladies,” she croaked. “You were cut out to be a ladies’ 
pet!” 

All the way to the Courthouse she made Larry the 
target of her wit. He had to put up with it. You 
can’t threaten an old woman with a club. His fellow- 
officers, having been in a similar situation themselves, 
had small sympathy with him. Phillida laughed with 


49 


50 Officer! 

the rest. Oddly enough Larry was a little consoled by 
Phillida’s laughter. It suggested that she was at least 
aware of his existence. 

Being the last to get on they had the desirable 
places at the open or airy end. Up in the front of the 
tightly curtained body it might have been supposed that 
the atmosphere was rather spicy. Phillida sat on the 
end seat on one side, while Larry shared the rear step 
with another officer, swinging against her with every 
jolt of the machine. But close as they were, a wall of 
non-understanding divided them. She baffled him com¬ 
pletely. At present, while he in distress of mind was 
trying to shield her from the possible glances of people 
in the street, you might have said that she was enjoy¬ 
ing herself, from the quick way her eyes darted to and 
fro, sizing up her fellow-prisoners, lighting up at their 
jokes. 

The mid-town Courthouse for the sake of cheap¬ 
ness was built in the middle of a block, and ran through 
from one street to another. It looked like a factory of 
justice. The prisoners were brought in from the rear. 
Their way lay up an endless straight stair, for the 
courtroom, in order to obtain the necessary light in 
those narrow streets, was superimposed on top of the 
jail where light is not necessary. At the top of the 
stairs they were thrust into the “pen” which is literally 
a great cage of thick steel bars. The officers stood 
about outside, chatting and killing time until court 
should open. 

Larry stood by himself, covertly watching Phillida 
through the bars. There were about twenty-five 
women in the pen, ceaselessly and uneasily milling 


Escape 51 

about, weaving a strange pattern of drab and gay. 
They ran to extremes. But a great camaraderie pre¬ 
vailed amongst them. Many women approached Phil- 
lida in curiosity. How strange it was to see her re¬ 
ceive them unaffectedly, answer their questions unhesi¬ 
tatingly, listen to their tales with interest. It was Larry 
who suffered all the indignities for her, on the outside 
of the cage. 

He could not hear anything that was said in the pen. 
He was feeling an unbearable sense of inferiority. He 
who had always thought so well of himself! He did 
not know it, but the look of pleasant complacency 
which until yesterday had distinguished him, was now 
gone forever. On the other hand the pain he was en¬ 
during and concealing, was beginning to give his smooth 
face a new strength and character. 

A long, narrow passage artificially lighted, connected 
the pen with the courtroom. It was lined for its whole 
length with a bench. When word came back that his 
Honour had taken his seat, the prisoners were let out 
of the pen and seated in a long row upon this bench. 
The officers sat democratically amongst them or 
lounged against the wall. For the most part a great 
good feeling prevailed; prisoners and captors con¬ 
versed amicably together. 

Larry did not talk to his prisoner. He stood in 
front of her, steeling himself not to look at her, but 
tinglingly conscious of her every move. He didn’t 
need his outward senses to tell him she was there. In 
the darkest night he would have known her. The sor¬ 
ceress was creeping into his very being. A policeman 
sitting next to her engaged her in talk, making Larry 


52 


Officer! 

very angry. What had that fellow to do with her ? 
She wasn’t his prisoner. 

When her case was called they entered the court¬ 
room together, Larry with a painfully beating heart. 
His eyes flew among the spectators looking for the de¬ 
testable Englishman. He could not find him. He went 
on the stand and told his story without any very clear 
notion of what was coming out of his mouth. Phillida 
was in the dock, somewhere behind him, out of his 
sight. She challenged none of his statements. 

While the others were testifying, he sat on a bench 
below the witness stand. He had been in that court¬ 
room a score of times before and had never taken the 
least notice of it. Now, the particular mustard-yellow 
of the walls was making an ineffaceable impression on 
his consciousness. Face by face he was searching for 
the Englishman among the spectators. If that fellow 
went on the stand and attempted to get her off, he 
would nail his lies. Yet there was nothing in the world 
that Larry desired so much as to get her off. Mr. 
Felix was not there. 

A well-known criminal lawyer had arisen in Phil- 
lida’s defense. Larry sneered. No need to ask who 
was paying him. Larry’s own sneers hurt him like 
self-inflicted wounds. He couldn’t think the situation 
through at all. He could only writhe under it. 

The lawyer was being prompted by a plump, red¬ 
faced young man sitting beside him, another object for 
Larry’s jealousy to fix upon. He suspected him of 
being an Englishman too. So far as Larry could tell, 
no glance of recognition passed between Phillida and 
her defenders. 


53 


Escape 

The hearing pursued the ordinary course. Such pro¬ 
ceedings are more or less informal. The magistrate, 
having listened to the testimony, asked where Mr. 
Felix was. 

“He has left the hotel without giving any forward¬ 
ing address,” said Larry. 

His Honour looked dubious, and a keen ray of hope 
lightened Larry’s breast. At the same time something 
prompted him to say bitterly: “Perhaps the prisoner’s 
lawyer knows where he is.” 

The magistrate looked surprised, but nevertheless 
put the question. 

“I know nothing of such a person,” said the attor¬ 
ney. “My services were engaged by Mr. Glanville, 
the gentleman beside me.” 

The same question was put to Mr. Glanville who re¬ 
turned a bland denial. “I wish I could put my hands 
on him,” he added. “He could clear the prisoner with 
a word.” 

Larry ground his teeth, hearing the well-bred Eng¬ 
lish inflections. . . . Liar! he thought. 

“What is your interest in this case?” asked the 
magistrate. 

“I have known the prisoner for many years, said 
Mr. Glanville. 

“You are prepared to testify to her good charac¬ 
ter?” 

“Should your Honour consider it necessary to hold 
her, any number of such witnesses may be produced. 

The magistrate addressed the attorney. “Have you 
consulted with your client?” 

“I have not yet had an opportunity.” 


54 Officer! 

“Do you want an adjournment?” 

The lawyer whispered with Mr. Glanville before he 
replied. “No, if your Honour pleases. I respectfully 
submit that there is no case against her. Nothing was 
stolen. And the one person who might be considered 
to have suffered an injury does not think it worth while 
to appear against her.” 

His Honour deliberated. Larry held his breath. 
The facts adduced by Larry, the hotel-clerks, the lock¬ 
smith could not be ignored. 

“Held for trial,” he said with a weary air. 

It was like a smart blow on the head to Larry. Yet 
he sneered at Phillida’s defenders. . . . That for you! 
he thought. 

Being held, Phillida passed automatically out of 
Larry’s custody. She was passed back into the corri¬ 
dor in charge of another officer,'who returned her to 
the pen. Larry left the courtroom also. He hung 
about the pen in the miserable hope of receiving a 
glance from Phillida. She vouchsafed him none of 
course. 

He presently had the added sting of seeing Glanville 
enter the corridor from the courtroom under conduct 
of an officer. It appeared that he had permission to 
speak to the prisoner before she was transferred to 
the Tombs. How soon would she be transferred, 
Larry heard him ask. In about half an hour, was the 
reply. 

Larry watched that interview from a little distance 
with jealous eyes. He could have sworn from Phil¬ 
lida’s blank look that she had never seen the man be¬ 
fore that afternoon. On the other hand Glanville ap- 


Escape 55 

proached her with an oily and ingratiating smile. He 
put his pudgy, rosy face between the bars and whis¬ 
pered some communication close in her ear—quite a 
lengthy communication. Phillida’s face, which Larry 
could see clearly, betrayed nothing whatever. She only 
looked at the man sharply, appeared to deliberate a 
moment, then decisively nodded. Something passed 
between them; money, no doubt. The whole transac¬ 
tion did not occupy more than fifteen seconds. Glan- 
yille immediately returned whence he came. 

Half an hour later with other officers, Larry was 
hanging about on the sidewalk outside the prisoners’ 
entrance to the courthouse. Strictly speaking they all 
ought to have been on their way back to their precincts, 
but policemen are only human. Going to court is like 
a recess in school hours, and the idea is to prolong it 
as much as possible. Larry in particular could not 
tear himself away from the spot; for the “wagon” 
which was to convey the held prisoners down to the 
Tombs was momentarily expected, and he was count¬ 
ing on getting a final glimpse of Phillida. 

The car backed up to the curb, and presently half a 
score of women were brought down the long stairs, the 
hardened ones making a good deal of racket on the 
way, for they had nothing further to fear now. They 
flowed out on the sidewalk under conduct of four offi¬ 
cers. These women were the more serious offenders, 
and, quaintly enough, the most respectable looking. 
Some of them enjoyed their conspicuous position or 
made believe to. Phillida with her quiet air stood out 
strangely from amongst them. She was still keenly in- 


56 Officer! 

terested in all that was going on about her. Larry, 
concealing himself behind his fellows, gazed at her with 
all his sight. 

The women started to climb aboard the car. Phil- 
lida spoke to one of the officers. Larry guessed that 
she was asking if she might sit at the end. She was 
so obviously superior to the lot, that the man assented 
as a matter of course, and Phillida stood aside a little. 

What happened next came as swiftly as a flash of 
light. Nobody had a hand on Phillida. Suddenly she 
was across the sidewalk and out in the middle of the 
street. A taxicab was passing slowly, the door hang¬ 
ing invitingly open. She whipped inside it, and 
slammed the door. The cab set ofl down the street at 
thirty miles an hour. 

A gasp of pure astonishment broke from the watch¬ 
ing bluecoats. Then of one accord they uttered loud 
shouts, to which the women prisoners added shrieks of 
delight and encouragement. With their prisoners half 
in and half out of the van, the officers in charge were 
helpless. 

No sound escaped Larry. With the outbreak of the 
shouting he was already in full pursuit, running with 
beautiful clean action, all hampered as he was by cloth¬ 
ing. Several other policemen followed him, but he left 
them far behind. He ran so fast there was a moment 
he almost had his hand on the cab. But the contest 
was too unequal; it drew away. 

Not having his gun, Larry could not shoot at the 
tires. He continued to run at top speed until, far down 
the block he came upon another cab standing along¬ 
side the curb. He flung himself in beside the driver, 


Escape 57 

and silently pointed out his quarry. Precious seconds 
were lost in starting the engine; then the second car 
flew after the first. 

At the Broadway corner, one of the most dangerous 
in town, though the traffic officer’s hand was raised 
against him, the driver of the first car with a wide 
sweep that almost sideswiped the cars bound in the 
other direction, turned down town. The traffic officer, 
seeing his fellow-bluecoat on the pursuing car, held up 
the downtown stream, and Larry and his driver like¬ 
wise turned into Broadway teetering on two wheels. 

Of all chases that by motor-car through crowded 
streets is the maddest. The awful chances that are 
taken! The hair-raising grazes and misses! In the 
broad thoroughfare the traffic was dense, but the street 
was not completely filled. In and out the two flying 
cars threaded their way, the advantage now with one, 
now with the other. It was up to other cars to get out 
of the way; there was a general drawing towards the 
safety of the curb. All the drivers infected with ex¬ 
citement, sounded a hoarse chorus of horns. Some at¬ 
tempted to follow. The more timid spectators ducked 
for doorways, instinctively expecting a fusillade of bul¬ 
lets to follow. 

At Fiftieth Street the first car, taking advantage of 
an opening, turned precariously west into the side 
street, and Larry’s driver managed to follow, but lost 
some ground. Larry realised sorely that the man be¬ 
side him notwithstanding all urgings was not disposed 
to take such long chances as the other fellow. No 
doubt Phillida’s driver had a big price. 

Somehow they both got across Seventh Avenue with- 


58 Officer! 

out a smash, and flew down the long empty block to¬ 
wards Sixth at an increased speed. Here Larry’s 
driver a little more than made up what he had lost 
before. But the driver in front with truly insane reck¬ 
lessness, took the Sixth Avenue crossing without a 
pause; trucks, trolley-cars and elevated pillars notwith¬ 
standing. Larry’s dreadful thought was: He’ll kill 
her! He’ll kill her! But—reward of recklessness! 
the cab won across in safety. Larry’s driver who 
slackened speed, narrowly escaped being crushed be¬ 
tween advancing car and elevated pillar. 

In the next long block both drivers gave their cars 
every bit of power they had at command. The way 
here was lined with handsome dwellings and fine shops. 
The well-dressed pedestrians stood rooted to the side¬ 
walk, gaping. Ahead loomed Fifth Avenue, main 
artery of the city’s traffic, and now in mid-afternoon 
at its most crowded. Motor-cars four abreast were 
moving up and down in a solid procession. 

“We’ve got him here!” muttered Larry grimly. 

But by the chance of fortune, when the first car ar¬ 
rived at the corner the up and down traffic was halted 
by the signals from the light towers, and the driver had 
a clear way across. Instead of taking advantage of it, 
to Larry’s astonishment he turned into the Avenue 
heading down town. Larry’s driver was just able to 
follow him before the up and down traffic was released 
again. 

The driver in front had a hundred yards clear space, 
then the almost solid lines of cars all moving down 
town together. By taking mad chances on the wrong 
side of the street he contrived to put two or three cars 


59 


Escape 

between him and his pursuers. Larry could then catch 
only occasional glimpses of the edge of his car. He 
began to see the wisdom of the man’s ruse in mixing 
with the throng. All were moving ahead at a brisk pace 
as one, and there was nothing the exasperated police¬ 
man could do at the moment. At Forty-second Street 
they were stopped again by the red light on the tower. 
Dropping off, Larry sprang ahead and looked eagerly 
into the cab he had been chasing. 

It was empty. 

The driver looked around with a smooth face. 
“What’s up?” he asked. 

Larry cursed him savagely, a breach of the regula¬ 
tions perhaps excusable under the circumstances. 
“Where’s your passenger?” he demanded. 

“I have no passenger.” He pointed to his flag which 
was up of course. 

There was a cry from another car: “She slipped 
through to the sidewalk!” There is always somebody 
to give information. 

Calling the officer at the crossing to his aid, Larry 
bade him watch the driver while he searched the side¬ 
walk. It was in vain. The throng of pedestrians 
stopped to gape, and he had a solid mass of bodies to 
push his way through. There were scores of ways 
out; the great stores with their many aisles, the office 
buildings, the arcades. Larry quickly realised that the 
girl had made a clean getaway. He returned to the 
cab. 

His feelings were mixed. The instinctive part of 
him which had set off in pursuit was enraged at being 
balked. But another part of him was glad that the 


60 Officer! 

girl was free. And still another part was madly jeal¬ 
ous. To whom had she gone? Anyhow, he still had 
the driver. Mounting the running board of his cab, 
he ordered him to drive to the police station. 

“Aw, what’s the matter with you?” the man pro¬ 
tested virtuously. He was young, and he looked the 
dare-devil he had proved himself. His eyes glittered 
derisively at the discomfited policeman. 1 I ain t done 
nothin’! I got a right to know what the charge is.” 

“You’ll find out at the desk.” 

“I was just on my way to get a fare in front of 
Sterns’.” 

“You’re on your way to a cell, now.” 

“My stand’s in front of the Amsterdam Hotel; I 
was there three minutes ago when the call came in. I 
dare you to ast the starter.” 

Larry accepted the challenge. They stopped in 
front of the Amsterdam. The starter glibly corrobo¬ 
rated the chauffeur’s story—a little too glibly. Not 
five minutes before, as his book would show, he had 
received a call for a taxi to go to Sterns’, he said, and 
he had sent that man. Moreover the other waiting 
drivers bore him out. 

Larry was not much impressed by this array of evi¬ 
dence. It must have cost the Englishman a pretty 
penny, he reflected with a heart full of angry jealousy. 

“You never saw my face before,” the chauffeur cun¬ 
ningly protested. 

“That’s all right, my lad,” said Larry. “I got your 
number at the rear door of the Mid-Town Court, and 
there’s a dozen other officers got it too. You drive on 
to the station house.” 


CHAPTER V] 


A STEP UP 


HE newspapers made a big story out of the sensa- 



-*■ tional escape of Phillida Kenley. Big, that is, in 
point of position and headlines, for in reality they had 
not much to go on. Nothing of the prisoner’s ante¬ 
cedents had transpired. The Girl of Mystery they 
termed her. The question was, who was her powerful 
backer? “Mr. Glanville” who had claimed friendship 
with her in court had vanished into thin air. Mr. Sam 
Leavitt, the noted criminal lawyer, was very much per¬ 
turbed by his connection with the case. He knew noth¬ 
ing, nothing, he insisted. The man who had engaged 
him to appear for the girl was a stranger to him. He 
had worked on his sympathies with his tale of the 
falsely accused young lady. But never again! never 
again! Whoever she might be, the manner of the 
girl’s escape appealed to the popular imagination. No 
such bold attempt had ever before been made, it was 


said. 


The police were very sore. The impudent girl had 
administered a slap in the face of the whole force it 
was felt. That it was a woman who had flouted them, 
made it all the worse. It had been hinted in certain 
quarters that the police had been privy to her attempt, 
or she could not have got away with it. Of all the 
thousands of bluecoats patrolling their beats, there 


61 


62 Officer! 

was not one but who had Phillida Kenley’s description 
by heart, and kept his eye peeled for her. Honour 
awaited the man who would bring her in. The taxi¬ 
cab driver was held, but he was not of any use to them 
without his principal. The man stoutly stuck to his 
first story. 

For an hour or two Larry dwelt in the limelight 
while he was questioned by this high official and that, 
and by the various detectives who were detailed to the 
case. No blame attached to Larry for the girl’s even¬ 
tual escape. It was recognised that his promptness in 
taking after her was worthy of the best traditions of 
the force. After they had got all he knew out of him 
he was relegated back to his beat. This was cruelly 
hard. To be condemned to pound the pavements, idly 
swinging his club when his breast was on fire, when he 
felt of all men this was his concern—well, it was al¬ 
most more than he could bear. The lot of a patrolman 
that he had been so proud of, seemed very inglorious 
to him then. He even had a desperate notion of chuck¬ 
ing it, and going after her himself. 

Continued inaction was impossible to one in his state 
of mind. Early next morning when he was off duty, 
he forewent his proper sleep, and commenced his own 
private investigation. He called at the lodging house 
on East Thirty-sixth Street. 

That pale wraith of a woman in the flaming dress 
let him in. It appeared that her name was Miss Cork- 
erell. It was not difficult to make her talk; the diffi¬ 
culty was to restrain her. She had read the news¬ 
papers and was all agog over the case, but she was so 
flattered by having a call from a good-looking young 


A Step Up 63 

man, that she couldn’t keep her mind on it. Her talk 
about Phillida and Doreen was all mixed up with the 
information that she, Miss Corkerell had had nervous 
prostration, and all her finger-nails had dropped off; 
and that she painted in oils on velvet, and wouldn’t he 
like to see her work? She told Larry that he looked 
much nicer in plain clothes, more personal-like. 
Wouldn’t he have breakfast with her? She was just 
sitting down. Larry politely declined. 

As to Phillida, Miss Corkerell’s information was 
mostly conveyed in unfinished ejaculations. “The nic¬ 
est girl you’d ever . . . And such a lady! . . . The 
last one you’d think . . . But you never can 
tell . . . !” 

“What facts can you give me?” said Larry. “Who 
was she?” 

“Mrs. Innes’s best friend.” 

“Is Mrs. Innes Doreen?” 

“Yes. Such friends those two! I never . . .” 

“What was Miss Kenley’s occupation?” 

“She was an art-student!” cried Miss Corkerell, as 
if that was something any fool ought to have known, 
“Painted oil-paintings. Not that I thought very much 
of them being an artist myself. But I’m no art-artist. 
I love the beautiful. I * . .” 

“Sure,” said Larry patiently. “Do you know where 
Miss Kenley lives?” 

“Only that it’s down Washington Square way, some- 
wheres, where all the art-artists live. What they call 
Greenwich Village. I sometimes go down to Green¬ 
wich Village to my dinner. The restaurants are more 
friendly-like . . .” 


64 


Officer! 


“Yes, but about Miss Kenley . . .” 

Miss Corkerell had a wealth of surmises which she 
regarded as highly important, but no more facts. 

“Well, let’s stick to Mrs. Innes then,” said Larry. 
“Is she here?” 

“Went away yesterday evening and took all her 
things.” 

“Do you know where she went?” 

“No. Naturally I expected to be told . . . after 
all I had done! But they got secret all of a sudden. 
Said they’d let me hear later. Went away for her 
health . . 

“How long has Mrs. Innes been living here?” 

“Seven months,” said Mrs. Corkerell, “but not in 
the top front hall where you saw her. Her and her 
husband took the second floor rear, one of my best 
rooms with the sun all day, and the view of the ailan- 
thus tree in the next yard but one . . 

“Never mind the view,” put in Larry. 

“Always paid up in the end too,” Mrs. Corkerell 
rushed on, “though I had to wait for it. At the end 
of every month they were flat broke, but the remit¬ 
tance always came sharp on the first of the month 
from England . . .” 

“England!” said Larry sharply. 

“Mr. Innes was English, very good family, I be¬ 
lieve, though he was somewhat reduced. . . . Two 
hundred dollars. Sometimes I cashed it for them 
through my bank. The officers know me very well. 
They’re always saying, Miss Corkerell, you . . .” 

“But Innes,” cried Larry, “what has become of 
him?” 


65 


A Step Up 

“That’s what we’d all like to know,” was the sur¬ 
prising answer. “Just walked out of the house one 
day, he did, and him so sick he could scarcely stand, 
and none of us never laid eyes on him again, though 
he telephoned in once to say she wasn’t to worry be¬ 
cause she wouldn’t never see him. And a couple of 
weeks afterwards Miss Kenley told me he was dead, 
but I don’t know how she knew it. Good riddance she 
said, and I say so too. But of course the poor little 
thing mourned, being a good wife, and moved up on 
the top floor. . . . An ugly customer ! Half crazed 
with drugs, and far gone with the t. b. She took it off 
him, the poor lamb! The way he yelled when he 
couldn’t get his drugs was something blood-curdling. 
Very bad for the house, yes, but I couldn’t put them 
out with him so sick, and her sick too. I’m soft¬ 
hearted, I am, I can’t help it. . . .” 

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” said the be¬ 
wildered Larry. “An Englishman, you said. Had he 
anything to do with the Englishman who called here 
yesterday morning, just before I arrested Miss Ken¬ 
ley?” 

“Oh, no,” said Miss Corkerell. “That was just a 
caller. Gave the name of Anstruther. I don’t know 
what he wanted.” 

“That was Mr. Felix,” said Larry grimly. 

“No!” said Miss Corkerell amazed. 

After half an hour’s patient work, out of oceans of 
talk Larry strained the following story : 

Mr. Innes had been getting worse and worse and 
had finally taken to his bed. One day about three 
weeks before, when his wife was out of the house, he 


66 Officer! 

had been called on the telephone by a man. There was 
an extension to the second floor, and he had been able 
to go to the phone. Mrs. Corkerell had not been able 
to make much of the conversation that ensued. The 
person on the other end had done most of the talking. 
But as a result of the conversation, Innes, weak as he 
was, had dressed himself and left the house. Nobody 
had seen him go, but when his wife returned their room 
was empty. 

Mrs. Innes had been left without any money at all, 
and this time when the first of the month came around 
there was no remittance. She had kept herself going 
by pawning what little trinkets she had. Then, only 
three days ago, something had happened. Miss Ken- 
ley had told Miss Corkerell Aleck Innes was dead, but 
she looked so funny when she said it, the landlady was 
sure it was not just a regular death. Miss Kenley and 
Mrs. Innes had had long, whispered conversations of 
which the landlady had not been able to hear a word. 
Mrs. Innes had been crying terribly, and Miss Kenley’s 
face had been getting harder and harder, until Miss 
Corkerell had felt in her bones something awful had 
happened. 

All this was highly stimulating to Larry’s curiosity, 
but it gave him nothing to go on. 

When he reported for duty he was told that Cap¬ 
tain Craigin wanted to see him. In some trepidation 
Larry hastily reviewed his actions of the past few days. 
What had he done? He went into his commander’s 
office stiffening himself to meet trouble. 

But the Captain’s face was bland. His first words 


A Step Up 67 

almost bowled Larry over. “You are temporarily de¬ 
tailed to the Detective Bureau.” 

“Yes, sir,” stammered Larry, wondering if he dared 
believe his ears. Every square-toes condemned to slap 
the pavement for hours at a stretch, dreams of fluffing 
around in plain clothes with a cigar between his teeth. 

“You’re to work on the Kenley case,” Captain 
Craigin went on. “They want a young fellow who is 
new to the force. One who would not likely be mis¬ 
taken for a detective. Your work in first bringing 
the girl in is known. And you have the advantage of 
knowing her by sight. Report to Inspector Durdan 
as soon as you can change your clothes.” 

Larry flushed red with pleasure. It was like the 
granting of a secret prayer. Like every young man 
he was ambitious, but there was much more in it than 
that. His attitude towards Phillida was scarcely that 
of the force in general, but to find her was an impera¬ 
tive need of his nature. He attempted to stammer 
his thanks. 

“Oh, don’t thank me,” said the Captain. “If you 
make good, I’ll be satisfied.” 

“I’ll make good, sir!” said Larry fervently. 

He proceeded down to Headquarters full of rosy 
dreams for the future. He would find Phillida and win 
promotion. He would win promotion and win Phil¬ 
lida. If it had been put to him squarely he must have 
admitted that these two aims were incompatible with 
each other; but few men put things to themselves 
squarely; it was a pleasant delusion. 

The great Inspector Durdan looked him over some¬ 
what grimly. Larry had not been long enough on 


68 Officer! 

the force to have taken its stamp when off duty. He 
still indulged his own ideas as to how a young fellow 
should dress, and rather fancied himself as a dresser. 
It was true that he did not suggest the policeman when 
he was wearing his own clothes. The Inspector who 
was a dyed-in-the-wool policeman disapproved of 
Larry’s get-up, but on the other hand it was what he 
wanted at the moment. 

“You’ll do for this job,” he said. “Can you dance?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Larry, somewhat disconcerted by 
the question. 

The Inspector summarized the present status of 
the Kenley case. “The girl made believe to be an art 
student,” he said. “She shared a studio with two 
other girls at 49 South Washington Square, and 
made a bluff of attending the classes at the Art Stu¬ 
dents League. Once in a while she sold a picture to 
the magazines, but as this wouldn’t support her, it’s 
clear she must have had some other source of income. 
Nothing is known about her people, or where she came 
from. 

“The names of the two girls she lived with are 
Arline Teague and Cynthia Robin. Get that. There’s 
nothing to connect these two with her criminal activi¬ 
ties. They make an honest living by helping to run 
one of those little artists cafes and dance halls on 
Sheridan Square. It’s called the Spotted Pup. They 
must know something, but they refuse to give any in¬ 
formation about their friend. Whenever they smell 
an officer they close up like clams. Direct measures 
are no good, so I’m trying indirect measures now. 
That’s what I want you for. Get next to these girls 


A Step Up 69 

either in their restaurant or elsewhere, and gain their 
confidence. 

“Another thing I want to tell you for your own 
information. The theory is held in certain quarters 
that this Mr. Felix who first accused the girl, is himself 
a high-toned hotel thief, and the girl’s principal. If 
that is so, the fuss at the Colebrook was simply the 
result of a dispute between them, and that’s a side 
show. Anyhow we want the man too, if you can find 
him. The Hotelmen’s Association, a very powerful 
organisation, has taken the matter up, and they have 
engaged William B. Shane himself to conduct an in¬ 
dependent investigation for them. Now, I don’t know 
what line Shane is taking; he hasn’t been to me, but I 
don’t have to tell you we don’t want Shane to get ahead 
of us, see? This girl has defied the New York police 
force, and it’s up to us to see that she gets what is 
coming to her.” 

“I get you, sir,” said Larry. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE SPOTTED PUP 

A PLAIN little old red-brick house on Sheridan 
Square had come out in a lurid yellow shop 
front with purple curtains hanging inside. Over the 
door swung a flamboyant sign depicting a yellow pup 
rampant with splashy purple spots. It was one of a 
score of places in the neighbourhood all vying with 
each other in the outlandishness of their colour schemes. 

At half-past six Larry turned in at the door with 
a good deal of diffidence. The point of view repre¬ 
sented by the impudent sign was strange to him, and 
he considered it rather scandalous. Inside, the rough 
walls had been frescoed in what seemed to him crude 
and hideous designs. All around the walls ran a 
wooden bench painted yellow with purple tables 
placed in front, each just big enough for two at a 
squeeze. In the middle a small space floored with 
linoleum had been left clear for dancing. The room 
was lighted by half-a-dozen paper lanterns decorated 
with designs featuring spotted pups. 

The encircling bench was well filled. Larry per¬ 
ceived that they were nearly all young, and clearly on 
the most unconventional terms with each other. Talk 
was shouted back and forth across the room; the 
racket was tremendous. To his dismay they were all 
facing the door, and they all looked at him. He made 
hastily for the nearest vacant table, and sank behind 
70 


71 


The Spotted Pup 

it sweating gently. As a matter of fact his diffidence 
stood him in good stead. Nobody would connect the 
idea of a police officer with a blush. 

After one good look they all went on eating and 
talking. He was a strange bird to them as well; but 
after all the place hung out a sign to attract custom. 

A good-looking girl with bobbed bronze hair and 
wearing an “artistic” linen slip came to take Larry’s 
order, and he began to perspire again. What did you 
order in such a place? The girl too, had an assur¬ 
ance; clearly not the ordinary waitress. How were 
you supposed to treat her? He grinned at her in sheep¬ 
ish fashion. 

“Dinner?” she asked, offhand. 

Larry nodded gratefully. 

While he waited for his food he took further stock 
of his surroundings. He was struck by the curious 
tone of equality that existed between the young fel¬ 
lows and the girls. It was not so in his world. Posi¬ 
tively, the girls spoke up just like the fellows. The 
girls, though he disapproved of their style of dress, 
Larry judged in male fashion according to their looks, 
good or ill. The average seemed to be about the 
same as elsewhere. The young men he resented 
somewhat; poor physical specimens they nevertheless 
looked and talked as if they owned the earth. “Bol¬ 
shevists!” said Larry to himself. 

As for the talk, Larry could make nothing of it. 
Actually though it raged back and forth on both sides 
of him he could not guess what it was all about. He 
heard such unnatural words as “values” “planes” 
“atmosphere” “technique” repeated over and over. 


72 Officer! 

What was this for fellows and girls to get so excited 
about? He was a good deal bothered. How could 
he extract any information from such a senseless jab¬ 
ber? 

The food when it came was good; Larry was obliged 
to admit it. But the portions were scarcely designed 
to satisfy a policeman’s appetite, and he hadn’t the 
nerve to ask for more. Meanwhile time was passing. 
How was a man to start getting acquainted with these 
strange creatures? Particularly the girls who ignored 
all the rules of the game as Larry knew it. Bold— 
yet not exactly bad either. 

He ordered coffee as he saw everybody else doing, 
and smoked. He wondered which of all the girls 
present might be Phillida’s two pals. The bronze¬ 
haired one who waited on him maybe. She had a 
touch-me-not air. At the thought of Phillida Larry 
seemed suddenly to see her sitting before him, dark¬ 
haired and vivid, and his breast was wrenched with 
the need of her. The others faded out. He resented 
the fact that Phillida belonged to this place. It made 
her out a stranger to him. She’s too real for this 
gassy bunch, he told himself. He dragged himself 
back to reality with an effort. 

At a larger table in the corner sat a man who looked 
as incongruous in that place as Larry did. Fat, bland, 
well-dressed with a cagey eye and a smooth manner, 
Larry knew his sort. He had evidently ordered a 
special dinner and he was treating three girls of the 
place. The way the girls were hanging on his words 
caused Larry to think cynically: “I guess girls are 
much the same here as up-town.” 


The Spotted Pup 73 

Presently the orchestra arrived; that is to say a 
wan pianist, and a drummer with jazz effects who made 
the dishes jump on the little tables. When the danc¬ 
ing commenced Larry’s task became suddenly simpli¬ 
fied. The girls lost interest in the talk; other qualities 
in a man became worthy of notice. As they danced 
past Larry they smiled at him unseen by their part¬ 
ners. And indeed Larry was rather splendid among 
the sallow, undersized art students. In spite of his 
hang-dog look it was evident that he was very much 
of a man. They smiled with a frankness that dis¬ 
concerted Larry. The girls of his acquaintance 
were more indirect in their methods. But he smiled 
back. 

There was one little thing who suggested a sort 
of pretty baby monkey with her turned-up nose, her 
wide reproachful stare and her fine, slinky, black hair, 
bobbed of course. She and Larry exchanged smiles, 
and later, seeing her left alone for a moment, Larry 
made bold to ask her to dance. She submitted to his 
encircling arm nonchalantly. Larry reflected that girls 
are girls, and he was not entirely inexperienced. He 
began to feel more sure of himself. Meanwhile they 
were admirably suited as partners. 

“Will you sit down with me?” he asked, when the 
music stopped. 

“Surely!” 

“What can we have?” 

“Oh, the usual slops.” 

They laughed, well-pleased with each other. 

“Great little place, this,” said Larry. 

“What brought you here?” she asked curiously. 


I 

74 Officer! 

“Why shouldn’t I come?” he asked a little alarmed. 

“No reason. But why did you?” 

“Just on impulse. I fell for the sign outside.” 

“I can’t place you,” she said. “We get lots of 
young fellows from up-town who think they’re seeing 
life, but you’re not like them either. Solider, some¬ 
how.” 

“Oh, I’m solid all right,” said Larry. “Especially 
in the dome.” 

“You’re very good-looking,” she said, with her in¬ 
nocent baby-monkey stare. 

“Thanks. Same to you.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Harry. What’s yours?” 

“Tina.” 

In short they got along like a house afire. Tina 
made it clear that she had adopted him for the eve¬ 
ning, and when any other lad asked her to dance, she 
made a monkey face at him, and Larry said: “Toddle 
along, old fellow,” as if he owned her. They re¬ 
leased great quantities of talk which had no significance 
whatever; merely the froth of youth, much the same 
at the Spotted Pup as at a ball of the Turtle Bay 
Social Club, Larry’s usual hangout. Youth and good 
looks are great levellers. After three dances they 
sat with linked arms and clasped hands like most of 
the other couples present. 

Larry was behaving exactly as he had behaved many 
other nights before, but his mind remained coolly de¬ 
tached, studying the girl, and wondering how he could 
turn the situation to his advantage. 

In the end she provided him with a startling op- 


The Spotted Pup 75 

portunity. As they circled around the corner table, 
Tina murmured, referring to the fat man: 

“Disgusting old thing! Makes me sick! . . . Do 
you know who he is?” 

“No,” said Larry idly. 

“William B. Shane, the famous detective.” 

Larry almost dropped her on the floor. He turned 
his head sharply. Shane, of course! Had he not seen 
the man’s published photograph a score of times! He 
was aghast at his own blindness. What sort of de¬ 
tective would he make if he overlooked the obvious 
like this? He must brace up! . . . Shane here! The 
sharpest anxiety attacked Larry. Already getting 
ahead of him perhaps. 

The girl on his arm babbled on: “He came here to 
find out about Phillida Kenley. But the girls are just 
pulling his leg. Making him spend money in the 
place. If we could only sell champagne we’d soak 
him proper!” 

“Phillida Kenley?” enquired Larry cautiously. 

“Haven’t you been reading the papers?” 

“Oh, the girl who escaped from the police yester¬ 
day.” 

“Wasn’t it splendid! We’re all crazy about her!” 

“What have you got against the police?” 

“It isn’t that. But such pluck! such nerve!” 

“They say she’s a pretty bad lot.” 

“Don’t you believe it, fellow! I don’t know what’s 
behind it all. None of us knows. Not even Arline 
or Cynthia, her pals. Whatever it was, don’t you 
think it’s fine to thumb your nose at the police like 
that?” 


76 Officer! 

Larry controlled his feelings. “It hadn’t occurred 
to me,” he said. 

“Oh, you’re so bourgeoise!” 

This was one of the words Larry had been hearing 
all evening. He didn’t know exactly what it meant. 

“Me, I despise all police and detectives and so on!” 
cried his vivacious little partner. “They’re just the 
servants of the kept classes!” 

. . . Bolshevik! thought Larry again, getting a lit¬ 
tle hot under the collar. 

The music stopped, and they returned to their table. 

“Never mind!” said Tina, snuggling. “I’ll teach 
you sense!” 

. . Will you!” thought Larry dryly. 

He did not wish the conversation to become per¬ 
sonal again. “Why should Shane come here to find 
out about the Kenley girl?” he asked carelessly. 

“Because the two girls she lived with help to run 
this place. That’s Cynthia Robin yonder in the yellow 
linen dress; the one who served you. Arline’s in the 
kitchen . . . The stupid old pudge!” she added, look¬ 
ing at Shane. “Thinks we don’t know who he is! He 
wouldn’t get any info’ here if he came every night 
for a month!” 

Larry was not so sure of this. Shane had a great 
reputation for sagacity. “It’s a funny case,” he said 
craftily. “I couldn’t make anything of it in the pa¬ 
pers.” 

“Oh, the police always get hold of the wrong end 
first!” said Tina. “Stupid owls!” 

. . . Thank you for nothing! thought Larry. Aloud 
he said: “What do you suppose is the rights of it?” 


The Spotted Pup 77 

“Search me! Sounds like a glorious adventure of 
some kind. You can depend on it, if Phil Kenley is 
in it it’s something unusual. Oh, she’s a stunning 
girl! I’ve admired her for years!” 

Larry’s divided breast warmed towards her a little. 
“You know her then?” 

“Not very well,” said Tina modestly. “She hardly 
noticed me. Phil Kenley has real talent. The only 
one of this bunch. The others just talk.” 

“But they said she couldn’t make a living out of 
her painting.” 

Tina looked at him pityingly. “What a lot you 
have to learn, man! With all your bright eyes and 
rosy cheeks! I suppose you’re one of these now, 
athaletic guys.” 

“Yes, I am,” said Larry. “What of it?” 

She laughed like tinkling strings. “Oh, you duck! 
I adore you!” 

Larry reflected that he couldn’t afford to get sore 
when on duty. “What’s foolish about that?” he per¬ 
sisted. “That’s what everybody works for, isn’t it? 
To earn their living?” 

“Yes, if you’re a navvy or a grocer’s clerk. But 
in art the best work never sells—until after you’re 
dead.” 

“Well, I’m glad I’m not an artist,” said Larry. 

“So am I,” said Tina. “Artists are all right 
but . . .” She rubbed her cheek against his shoul¬ 
der. 

Larry called on all his guile. “Phillida Kenley must 
be a dandy girl!” he said. “But how did she get 
along if she couldn’t sell her work?” 


78 Officer! 

“Oh, she has a father and mother who believe in 
her. It’s not common.” 

“Here in town?” asked Larry carelessly. 

“No, up in the back counties,” said Tina in her 
thoughtless way. “Barnstaple, N. Y. 

Larry’s heart swelled. He doubted if Shane had got 
as far as this. ... At that I’m not such a slouch! he 
told himself with delicious self-approval. The gar¬ 
rulous Tina herself felt that she had gone too far, 
and cast an anxious glance in his face. It was a per- 
feet blank. 

“Gee! I wish the music would play!” he said. 

They danced again. 

Larry got nothing further out of Tina, and by and 
by he began to long to get away. He had made up 
his mind to pay a hasty visit to Barnstaple. Phil— 
lida would not go home perhaps, but it was likely that 
she would write to her people. It was not so easy 
though, to think up a good excuse for shaking Tina. 

Finally the whole party gave signs of leaving in a 
body. 

“The gang’s going on to Tim Dorlon’s studio,” said 
Tina. “He’s the fellow who makes ukuleles out of 
cigar boxes and plays them. Will you come?” 

“I don’t know him,” said Larry. 

“Oh, it’s a public resort. I’ll take you.” 

Shane and the three girls were getting under way 
with the rest. 

* “Are they going?” asked Larry. 

“Sure, they’ll make him buy a ukulele. Tim needs 
the money.” 

Larry, following the line of least resistance, drifted 


The Spotted Pup 79 

out on the street with the rest. The whole party, 
singing, dancing, arguing loudly, made its disorderly 
way around the corner into Waverly Place. Larry 
watched that Shane did not drop out en route. They 
climbed many flights of stairs to a vast bare studio 
where there was already a dense, noisy crowd. 

Here Tina met old admirers whom she could not 
ignore. While she was philandering in a corner with 
one of them, Larry took the occasion to make his way 
out quietly. . . . It’ll take her awhile to find out I’ve 
gone, he thought. Shane was still there, surrounded 
by his galaxy of girls. Larry hustled down stairs in 
high satisfaction. . . . I’ll beat him to it! 

At the corner of Sixth Avenue he paused to wait 
for a taxi. The hands of the clock on Jefferson Market 
tower were pointing to eleven . . . Maybe there’s a 
night train, he thought. 

Suddenly he beheld Shane coming along Waverly 
Place, and stiffened . . . Oh, well, he thought, he 
doesn’t know me. I’ve got the advantage of him 
there. He whistled a careless stave. Shane was plod¬ 
ding along dejectedly, a ukulele hanging from one 
hand. . . . Stung! thought Larry triumphantly. All 
he’s got to show for his evening is the cigar box! 

A taxi came along and Larry caught it on the wing. 
‘‘Hotel Madagascar” he said, in case his rival were 
within earshot. When they had gone a block he stuck 
his head out of the door. “Make it Grand Central 
Station, Jack.” 

Larry was not sure where Barnstaple was, but he 
knew that the New York Central served the whole 
state. Strictly speaking he ought to have communi- 


80 


Officer! 

cated with headquarters before leaving town, but he 
was afraid if he did, they would send a more ex¬ 
perienced man in his stead. And he had the excuse 
that Shane might get ahead of him if he delayed. He 
was well supplied with money. 

In the station drug-store Larry bought tooth-brush, 
comb and collar. This constituted his baggage. He 
proceeded to the ticket-office. 

“Is Barnstaple, N. Y., on your lines?” 

“Sure.” 

“When can I get a train?” 

“Midnight express. Change at Albany in the 
morning.” 

“Give me a ticket.” 

As he turned from the window, Larry looked up 
and saw, next man but one in the line behind him— 
Shane! The fat man’s face was as bland and blank 
as a baby’s. Larry’s heart seemed to drop into his 
stomach. 

Shane must have overheard him ask for the ticket. 
Shane was following him. In a flash he saw it all. 
The girls had not spotted him, Larry, but Shane had. 
And unable to learn anything from the girls himself 
he had trailed Larry. What a fool he had been! the 
young man thought in bitterness of spirit. Why 
hadn’t he looked behind him before he spoke the 
name of that place? Would he ever learn the simplest 
rudiments of his trade? 

Under pretext of counting his change, Larry lin¬ 
gered near, and presently heard Shane ask for a ticket 
to Barnstaple. He was then miserably sure that he 
had been done. All his clever work earlier in the 


81 


The Spotted Pup 

evening had been spoiled by that one slip. The old man 
had made him a cat’s-paw. They were now on an 
equality. What chance would he, Larry, stand against 
the experienced old fox? However, there was nothing 
for it but to plug ahead. Larry unhappily secured a 
berth, and boarded the waiting train. 


CHAPTER VII 


UP-STATE 

S HORTLY before eight o’clock next morning Shane 
and Larry got off the local train at Barnstaple. 
They were the only passengers for that small place. 
The two men still maintained a blank front towards 
each other, though by this time Shane must have been 
aware that Larry knew who he was. There was an 
element of absurdity in their continuing to make pre¬ 
tences to each other, but Larry had the feeling that 
if he made believe not to know Shane, he would be 
in a better position to outwit him. 

Larry had a wild idea of hiring a car and drawing 
Shane off into the country somewhere. But upon 
descending from the train Shane, ignoring Larry, pro¬ 
ceeded direct to the station agent and asked a ques¬ 
tion. Larry could guess what that question was. He 
loitered on the platform awaiting the outcome. 

Receiving a satisfactory answer, Shane went to en¬ 
gage one of the waiting rigs, passing in front of Larry 
as if he were not there. Larry heard him order the 
man to drive him to the hotel. Larry felt that to repeat 
Shane’s question to the agent would appear too ex¬ 
traordinary. Better ask somebody else. He followed 
Shane on foot. It was not difficult to keep the plodding 
vehicle in view. 

Larry knew the country districts only from moving 
pictures. Barnstaple was just what you’d expect of 

82 


83 


Up-state 

a small country town: any movie director would have 
approved it as the setting for a drama of the Ameri¬ 
can home. Slightly faded and old-fashioned it looked 
as if the past thirty years had passed it over. The 
principal buildings were decorated with squat steeples 
and brick turrets and a deal of fancy iron railing, all 
of which Larry thought very cute. The whole place 
was embowered in trees, just as it ought to have been, 
and the inhabitants, such as were astir so early, undeni¬ 
ably slow. 

The rig ahead drew up at the hotel and Shane went 
in. When Larry passed by he saw the fat detective in 
the act of seating himself at a table in the dining¬ 
room. . . . Feels sure of his game, thought Larry 
bitterly; thinks he may as well eat. Larry was sharp 
set himself, but he did not follow Shane’s example. 
He went on slowly, looking for somebody to whom 
he might address his question. 

At the principal corner (Main Street and Railway 
Avenue) he came upon a gaunt youth with a prominent 
Adam’s apple, the first loafer of the day. He had 
the true hick air of being vitally interested in every¬ 
body, and clearly spotted Larry from afar as a city 
feller. Larry accosted him. 

“Know anybody in this place called Kenley?” 

The young man prepared for a comfortable chat. 
“Sure. Dominie Kenley, the retired preacher. Folks 
of yours?” 

Larry ignored the question. “Where does he live?” 

“Next cross street. I’ll show you the way.” 

“Thanks, you needn’t put yourself out,” said Larry 
dryly. 


84 Officer! 

“Oh, all right,” said the other with an affronted 
stare. “Turn to the right. Fourth house on the 
right.” He gaped after Larry until he turned the 
corner. 

The fourth house was a modest, dun-coloured 
frame dwelling with a single wide gable turned to the 
street that somehow gave it the effect of a benignant 
countenance. It had not been painted in many a year, 
but the yard was trimly cared for, and showed borders 
of thriving flowers. Flowers don’t cost anything but 
a little labour. The windows of the little house shone 
and crisp curtains hung inside. Larry was pleased with 
its aspect. 

As he turned up the path his heart set up a perturbed 
beating. “. . . What’s the matter with you?” he said 
to himself. “She’s not here. She would never come 
home to this nosey little burgh where everything is 
talked about.” 

There was a metal plate in the middle of the door 
with a key in it and an invitation to “turn” cast in 
the plate. He turned, and a bell whirred on the other 
side. Not until the door was opened by a smiling 
pink-cheeked old lady did he bethink himself that he 
had not prepared any story to account for his early 
call. However his tongue began to wag of its own 
accord. 

“Do the Kenleys live here?” 

“I am Mrs. Kenley ” 

“How are you?” said Larry affably. “I am a friend 
of Phillida Kenley’s.” 

In surprise and pleasure the old lady’s face turned 
pinker than before. In a way she was like a little girl. 


85 


Up-state 

A nice little girl, so ready to be friendly. Phillida 
did not in the least resemble her. “Oh,” she said, 
“come right in. What is the name?” 

“Harry Johnson,” said Larry. He felt no shame. 
Wholly possessed by his aim as he was, anything that 
contributed to it seemed right and proper. But it 
should be remembered that his private feelings were 
not at all those of a policeman seeking to arrest a 
criminal. He felt like a son towards this old lady, and 
in a way he was proud of her. 

She looked a little blank at the name he gave. 

“I expect she never mentioned me to you,” said Larry 
quickly. “She’s got so many friends. Very likely 
she means more to us than we do to her.” He was 
a little surprised at his own readiness of speech—and 
pleased. 

“Come right in,” the old lady repeated, smiling. 
“I’m just putting on breakfast. Step into the parlour 
while I lay an extra plate. I’ll call Mr. Kenley. He’ll 
be so pleased!” 

“I didn’t want to impose on you,” murmured 
Larry deprecatingly, “but I was just passing through 
town ... Bet this’ll be better than Shane gets,” 
he added to himself. 

He was left alone in the little parlour. In the place 
of honour over the mantel hung an oil painting, a 
landscape one might suppose. Phillida’s work. But 
Larry’s eyes merely skated over it. High art. His 
eyes had been caught by a photograph of Phillida her¬ 
self standing on the mantel in a silver frame. 

It was a formal portrait of Phillida in her pretti¬ 
est clothes looking at you with a somewhat conven- 


86 Officer! 

tional smile. But Phillida! It seemed to bring you 
into her presence! Larry’s eyes devoured it, and all 
his self-assurance was drawn out of him. Phillida! 
Phillida ! How he longed for her! * 

The room was full of her. Turning around he saw 
hanging on the wall alongside the door by which he 
had entered, an enlarged and tinted photograph of 
Phillida as a child. This was less disturbing. Larry 
smiled at it delightedly. The comical grave little 
thing! The black hair hung to her shoulders then, 
and was well spread out; on her forehead an absurd 
straight bang. But the child, eight years old maybe, 
had exactly the same high look as the woman. . . . 
Like nobody but herself, thought Larry. 

On a small table in the bay window he spotted a 
pile of snapshots, and pounced on them. As he ex¬ 
pected, all of Phillida. Phillida alone and Phillida 
with her friends. Girl friends luckily. How the picture 
of a man standing beside her would have tortured him! 
Phillida sitting on a bench in Washington Square; 
Phillida working at her easel; and best of all one of 
Phillida in the act of breaking a branch from a flow¬ 
ering shrub and looking around at the photographer. 
In this one the high look was lightened by laughter 
and affection. (Who had taken the picture? Larry 
wondered anxiously.) She had never looked at Larry 
like that, but he dreamed of it. With a guilty look 
over his shoulder, he slipped the card into his breast 
pocket. It was an act of theft which never troubled 
his conscience afterwards. The card made a warm 
spot over his heart. 

Mrs. Kenley returned bringing a tall old gentleman 


87 


Up-state 

who wore a grey beard and had an air of otherworld¬ 
liness. His manner was gentle, but he was not quite 
of the same childlike nature as his wife. Not pre¬ 
pared to yield himself all at once to a stranger, his 
grave eyes measured Larry shyly. Phillida resembled 
her father more than her mother. The old gentle¬ 
man made Larry feel vaguely uneasy. 

They sat down to breakfast in the adjoining room. 
Such a breakfast! The good food, the sunshine in the 
open window, the flowers on the table; it all satisfied 
something deep in Larry. He lived in a boarding¬ 
house. But it all seemed slightly unreal too. He was 
uneasy. . . . What am I doing here? he asked himself. 
But his tongue still performed its office—a little in¬ 
dependently of him one might say. 

He was expected to do most of the talking; he 
had to tread warily. 

“Phillida tells us everything,” the old lady said 
happily; “but it’s so nice to hear about her from some¬ 
body else too. I suppose you know all her friends.” 

“Some of them,” said Larry. “I know Arline and 
Cynthia and the other girls at the Spotted Pup.” 

“The Spotted Pup!” sighed the old gentleman with 
a shake of the head. 

“My dear, it wasn’t our Phillida who gave the place 
that name,” admonished the old lady. 

“She goes there, my dear.” 

“She says the food is good and cheap.” 

“I can say it is,” put in Larry. 

“Our daughter’s life is strange to us, Mr. John¬ 
son,” said the old gentleman sadly. “But we have al¬ 
ways felt that there was something exceptional about 


88 Officer! 

Phillida, and that she must not be hampered in her 
development.” 

There was a simple honesty about this that surprised 
Larry out of his caution. “Ah! she turns you upside 
down!” he said with a sort of exasperated fondness 
that they both seemed to understand perfectly. 

“And do you know poor Doreen?” enquired Mrs. 
Kenley. 

“Oh, yes, quite well,” said Larry. “Poor little 
thing!” 

“What do you think can have become of that scamp 
of a husband of hers?” 

Larry was not there to give information, but to get 
it, so he replied cautiously: “I don’t know, Pm 
sure.” 

In such gentle and immaterial talk the meal passed. 
Larry spread his information about Phillida as thin 
as possible. He was never in any serious danger of 
being found out. It was too easy to deceive such a pair 
of old innocents. He felt a curious reluctance to ques¬ 
tion them, and simply waited for something to turn 
up. 

“When did you see Phillida last?” asked Mrs. Ken¬ 
ley. 

“About a week ago,” said Larry evasively, “five 
been travelling. I’m on my way to New York now.” 

“Oh-h!” said the old lady clasping her hands. 
“Could you carry her a little package from me? A 
pot of my strawberry jam, a little jar of pickles . . . 
I suppose you wouldn’t have room for a loaf of yes¬ 
terday’s baking . . .” 


89 


Up-state 

“My dear Mary!” said her husband. 

“Well, there is nothing like home food!” she said. 

“I expect you have later news of your daughter than 
I can give you,” ventured Larry. 

“I had a letter three days ago,” said the old lady 
brightly. “Twice a week she writes. Never fails. 
This was only a short one. She had finished her pic¬ 
ture—the one of the salt marshes, you know, but she 
was not pleased with it. She was much worried about 
Doreen. That was all . . . I shall have another let¬ 
ter this morning,” she added full of happy confidence, 
and glanced at the clock. “Posty will be here any 
minute.” 

A thrill of rising excitement struck through Larry. 

The old lady chattered on. 

The bell out in the hall whirred. She sprang from 
her seat and hastened out. They heard her exchang¬ 
ing pleasant comments on the weather with the post¬ 
man. She came back waving a letter. 

“Here it is!” 

Larry, affecting no more than a decent interest, 
waited breathlessly. 

“Why, it’s from Atlantic City!” she cried. 

Larry suddenly began to feel ashamed. He could 
feel the hot tide creeping up from his neck. He kept 
his eyes on his plate. 

“Atlantic City!” cried the old gentleman excitedly, 
“she gave us no hint . . .” 

“I can’t think what has happened!” said the old 
lady. 

“Open it, open it, Mary!” 


90 Officer! 

Larry heard her tear the envelope, and spread the 
sheet. “This is only a short one too,” she said dis¬ 
appointed. She skimmed over it, giving them the gist. 
“Unexpected trip to Atlantic City . . . Guest of a 
rich woman who is interested in her work . . . No¬ 
body she has ever told us about, a Mrs. Fletcher . . . 
Doesn’t know how long she’ll be there . . .” 

“Where is she stopping?” murmured Larry. 

“She doesn’t say. Says for me not to write until 
she writes again . . . Oh!” The old lady broke off 
with a startled exclamation. 

“What is it, Mary?” her husband asked anxiously. 

“She says,” the old lady faltered, “she says not to 
tell anybody where she is . . .” 

Larry was conscious of both pairs of innocent, 
troubled old eyes being turned upon him. He kept 
his head down. He wished that the floor might open 
up and swallow him. . . . Brazen it out! Brazen it 
out! a voice within him whispered. But he could not 
obey it. Such gentle, kindly, reproachful old eyes! 

“Let me see the letter, Mary,” said the old gentle¬ 
man tremulously. 

“That is all there is in it,” she said, handing it 
across. 

There was a silence while he read it. 

“Who are you, sir?” he asked Larry in a grave 
voice. 

The inner voice prompted the young man . . . 
There’s nothing in the letter to show you up. You’ve 
got nothing to be ashamed of anyhow. They would 
have fared worse at Shane’s hands . . . Still he 
could not get his head up. 


Up-state 91 

“Fm a friend of Phillida’s as I told you,” he mur¬ 
mured. 

The meal was over. They all stood up. 

“We are old people,” Mr. Kenley said quietly, “and 
we keep simple ways. We are slow to suspect deceit 
. . . But your coming to this out of the way place 
so early, followed by this letter, seems more than ac¬ 
cidental. Who are you? And what do you want of 
us?” 

“Do you think I’d wrong you—or her?” stammered 
Larry. 

“You could not wrong us,” said the old gentleman 
quickly. “If you are deceiving us that is a matter for 
your own conscience.” He was not angry, but sorrow¬ 
ful and perplexed. 

Larry simply could not bear it. It would be as well 
to draw a veil over the remainder of the scene. In 
after life Larry could not think of it without hot 
cheeks. Nobody said very much. They did not abuse 
him. It was the way they looked! He got out of the 
house as quickly as possible. He felt like the lowest 
dog in creation. And at the same time he was asking 
himself angrily . . . What’s the matter with you? 
You’re only doing your job! 

As he turned up towards the main street, Larry saw 
Shane lounging at the corner. Of course the old de¬ 
tective knew where he had been. Shane seemed to 
have an uncanny faculty of forecasting Larry’s move¬ 
ments. Perhaps it was because he had been a young 
detective himself. Larry wondered if Shane would 
speak to him now, and braced himself for it. 

Shane did not speak, but only cast a wary look at 


92 Officer! 

Larry as he passed. Larry, full of bitterness, gave 
him look for look. Larry’s look seemed to say . . . 
Go on in, old man, you won’t get much there now! 
Shane declined to accept the challenge. Turning his 
head after he had gone some yards, Larry saw that 
Shane was sauntering after him. Turning his head 
again, he saw Shane go into the hotel. 

. . . Still willing to let me do the dirty work, Larry 
thought bitterly. Thinks I’ve got the dope now, and 
he’s only got to keep me in sight 1 

Larry kept on to the railway station. He learned 
that the first train back to Albany left in an hour’s 
time. There was nothing to do but pace the platform, 
and tread the mill of his thoughts. 

They never got him an inch ahead. They were 
scarcely thoughts at all, but merely painful sensations. 
Like most men in a false position Larry was suffering 
the torments of the damned because he would not or 
he could not think things through. He had to find 
that girl; passion, ambition, all the mixed elements of 
his being drove him to it. He was willing to die for 
her if need be. In his soul he knew that this was an 
honest passion, and in his soul he knew that she was 
a glorious creature. Why, then, was he suffering so? 

Because he could not face the situation squarely. 
He could not reconcile the roles of lover and police¬ 
man. In order to justify his pursuit of her as a police¬ 
man, he had to go on making believe to himself that 
she was a criminal. An older head than his might 
have been excused for getting in such a maze. At any 
rate there was no doubt about the reality of the pain 
he was suffering. 


93 


Up-state 

Five minutes before the train was due, Shane turned 
up on the platform with his bland and leisurely air. 
All the pain-engendered rage that filled Larry instantly 
fastened itself on the old detective’s unconscious per¬ 
son. 

. . . Unnatural brute! Got no human feelings at 
all! Just a sleuth hound! He doesn’t give a damn 
for Phillida—or her people. He’d drag her down 
just as if she was any common crook. And then go 
to his dinner! . . . 

Larry was aware of no inconsistency in himself. 

When the train came along they seated themselves 
at opposite ends of the same car. Shane had the wit 
to pre-empt the rear-most seat so that Larry was 
bound to be under his eye. 

As they jogged along their slow way to Albany 
Larry began to feel a little better. The natural elas¬ 
ticity of youth and health came into play, and he had 
youth’s marvellous capacity for deceiving itself. 

“. . . Anyhow, I know where she is. That’s some¬ 
thing. And the old folks can’t warn her against me, 
because they don’t know where she’s stopping. I’m 
a lap ahead of old Shane again, too. I’m wise to 
him now. If I play my cards right I ought to be able 
to shake him altogether. He’s a bit too sure of him¬ 
self. . . ” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE CITY BY THE SEA 

¥N Albany there was an ordinary train for New 
York standing in the station, but Larry, learning 
that there would be a fast non-stop train in half an 
hour, let it go. Shane waited too, of course. The 
two men sauntered about the magnificent station keep¬ 
ing the tail of an eye on each other. Shane despatched 
a couple of telegrams. Larry would have given some¬ 
thing to know what was in them. 

On his part Larry consulted the railway guide. 
Shane could not possibly tell what tables he was look¬ 
ing up. From it Larry learned that there was a way 
of reaching Atlantic City by way of Scranton and 
Philadelphia without returning to New York. For 
a while he dallied with the idea, but gave it up. There 
was no fast through train that way; moreover, it was 
in the crowded ways of the big town so familiar to 
Larry, that he counted on losing his tracker. 

There were compensations for the young man in 
all this business of travelling. One cannot be keyed 
up all the time. A bit of a thrill in the sight of the 
heavy train rolling into the station, with its locomotive 
of the latest and biggest type, insolent as a pouter 
pigeon with its button of a smoke-stack scarcely showing 
on top of its swollen boiler. And when they started 
off, what of the boy there was in him was charmed 
by the way they spurned the way-stations and ate up 
94 


The City by the Sea 95 

the miles without any jarr or noise or fuss. The ever- 
changing panorama of the river was highly agreeable 
too: he had not seen it on the night trip coming up. 
He did not see Shane on the train, but had no doubt 
that the old man was keeping him under observation. 
He used up a lot of the time by ordering an extensive 
meal in the dining-car. 

No limits had been placed on Larry’s expense ac¬ 
count; nevertheless he had a twinge whenever he 
thought of headquarters. What was happening there, 
and what would the Inspector be thinking of his long 
silence? Moreover, Larry had not the slightest inten¬ 
tion of reporting on his way through town. Might 
as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb now. When he 
brought the girl in everything would be all right. If he 
did not bring her in—but he refused to entertain that 
possibility. 

Arriving in Grand Central, Larry walked down the 
long platform without looking behind him. Let the old 
man keep him in sight if he could! The dense crowd 
was all in Larry’s favour, but on the other hand he 
knew that in Shane he had no novice. Trolley cars 
and taxicabs were too easy to follow through the 
streets, and Larry had determined to trust to the sub¬ 
way. On the platform he caught a glimpse of Shane, 
but his rival did not seem to be looking at him. 

With the cunning of a fox, Larry led his supposed 
pursuer up and down town, squeezing himself aboard 
the most crowded trains, in order to make the chase 
as difficult as possible. To Times Square, to Seventy- 
second Street, down to Fourteenth Street, and back 
to the Pennsylvania Terminal. At each station he did 


96 


Officer! 


a little scout work, but was unable to find his tracker. 
Gradually he became assured that he had shaken him. 
He stood in the centre of the vast hall of the Ter¬ 
minal, but was unable to discover that he was over¬ 
looked from any point. At the last moment he made 
a dash for the Atlantic City train. 

When the train issued out of the Hudson tunnel 
Larry went through it car by car. Shane was not 
aboard, and he was filled with a sweet satisfaction. 
“. . . I’ve diddled the old fox! Left him at the post! 
He’ll never come up with me now! Let him do his 
own work, and not lay back on me!” 

Larry settled himself comfortably in his seat for 
a nap. 

He had never been in Atlantic City. He knew that 
it was a big and busy place, “America’s Holiday 
Capital” they called it, but had pictured it only as a 
sort of superior Coney Island. He received his first 
surprise in the row of motor-busses backed up to the 
station platform. Side by side in a close rank ex¬ 
tending as far as the eye could reach, there seemed 
to be hundreds of the elegantly appointed vehicles, and 
each one from a different hotel. Larry’s heart sunk. 
If there were as many hotels as this, he’d have his work 
cut out for him! 

At the station gate he paused uncertainly. He was 
not feeling so conceited then. After all he was a 
very green detective and he had no clear notion 
of how to set about finding a person in a strange 
town. He looked up and down the Square for in¬ 
spiration, and received none. All those hundreds of 


The City by the Sea 97 

people bound on their own business. They all seemed 
at home in the place except himself. 

He supposed that the proper thing to do was to 
go to the local police, present his credentials, and ask 
for their co-operation. He had a great reluctance to 
do this. His dream was to find Phillida unaided. For 
the moment he temporized with the necessity . . . 
Anyway, I might as well take a look round on my own 
first. 

He found his way to the Boardwalk since all roads 
lead there. From that point of vantage the amazing 
town burst on him complete; that stupendous sea front 
with its staggering, fantastic, cloud-piercing towers, 
its miles of giant hotels. There were enough hotels, 
one would say, to house all the standing armies of 
the world. He crept along the edge of that unique 
footway, wider than many an avenue but thronged with 
promenaders from edge to edge, feeling small and 
helpless. . . . Good God! what a place to look in! 
Where would a fellow begin? 

There was nothing for it, but he must have help. 
He. turned back into the town, and asked the way to 
the Central Police station. 

His way led through one of the smaller streets that 
extend inland from the sea. It was a street of small 
second-rate hotels and little eating-places that Larry 
was to know well. A flimsy stage-setting, most of the 
buildings had a rakish and temporary look character¬ 
istic of the by-ways of shore resorts the world over. 
Suddenly upon the corner of a cross street, Larry came 
face to face with . . . Shane I 

A mutual recognition was not to be avoided now. 


98 Officer! 

“Ah!” said the fat man running up his eyebrows 
mockingly. 

Larry choked with a sudden rage. After all the 
pains he had taken! The reaction from his supposed 
triumph was too sudden. He forgot his prudence. 
“Damn you!” he said. “What right have you got to 
follow me about?” 

“You get me wrong, young fellow,” said Shane 
coolly. “Your movements are nothing to me.” 

“Weren’t you in Barnstaple this morning?” de¬ 
manded Larry. 

“Certainly. On business of my own.” 

“You lie! You did nothing there but spy on me!” 

“My business took me about five minutes,” said 
Shane with his aggravating smile. “At the post-of¬ 
fice I asked to look at certain letters that were being 
sent out in the first delivery. The handwriting on 
one of the envelopes corresponded with a sample of 
handwriting that I held. From that envelope I took 
the postmark, and here I am.” 

Larry’s jaw dropped. It was a bitter dose for the 
young man’s pride to swallow. He could only stare 
at Shane angrily and helplessly. Shane, with an iron¬ 
ical nod, walked on and presently disappeared within 
a doorway a few yards down the street through which 
Larry had come. 

Larry retraced his steps. The door through which 
Shane had gone showed a neat brass sign alongside, 
reading: The Hotelmen’s Association—Shane’s em¬ 
ployers of course. Shane was on his own ground then, 
and a grave anxiety attacked Larry. The young man 
walked on, and crossing to the other side of the street, 


99 


The City by the Sea 

came back to get a better look at the premises. It 
was a more substantial building than the others in that 
street. There was a novelty store on the ground 
level, and the Association’s offices were overhead. All 
Larry could see was a row of well-washed windows 
with screens in them which prevented him from see¬ 
ing in. 

Immediately opposite was an humble eating-house 
which advertised itself as the Sunset Restaurant. 
Larry turned in. He had a good excuse, inasmuch as 
he had not had any dinner yet. It was one of those 
standardised restaurants of an older fashion, with a 
row of long tables placed one end to the wall, and on 
the wall between each pair of tables, a lozenge shaped 
mirror surrounded by coat hooks. Larry took a seat 
at the first table where he could watch the building 
across the street, and await Shane s reappearance. It 
was a little past the dinner hour, and the place was be¬ 
ginning to thin out. There was but one other man 
at Larry’s table. 

Larry soon observed the interesting fact that men, 
singly and in couples, were approaching along the 
street from either direction, and turning in at the door¬ 
way opposite. A curious thing was that they all had 
the same general look; that is to say men of a settled 
age well-dressed, even fashionably dressed, but with 
a purposeful air that distinguished them from the mere 
holiday-seekers their clothes suggested. Shane’s men, 
all these? he asked himself in alarm. 

Like the restaurant itself, the waitress who took 
Larry’s order conformed to type. She was a young 
woman with a thoroughly disillusioned eye, and a quan- 


100 


Officer! 


tity of crass yellow hair teased into strange quirks and 
whorls. At first Larry, intent upon what was going 
on across the way, paid no attention to her. When 
she was not waiting upon Larry she was engaged 
in sprightly repartee with the man across the table, a 
hard-faced man in sport clothes: white flannel trousers, 
tweed coat, etc. Larry did not regard him either 
until, having finished his meal, he left the restaurant 
and followed the other men into the building opposite. 
Larry was sorry then that he had not taken better 
notice of him. Possibly the girl could tell him some¬ 
thing. 

The next time she came to the table Larry smiled 
at her according to the ritual of such affairs. He knew 
her kind. She was not at all backward about answer¬ 
ing the smile. Indeed she had already wasted several 
perfectly good looks on the handsome young man. 

“Ain’t see you before,” she remarked. 

“Just come,” said Larry. 

“On a bit of a holiday?” 

“Im-hym.” 

“Fellas don’t gen’ally come to Atlantic alone,” she 
said offhand. 

“I suppose not.” 

“You don’t look like the lonely kind,” she said with 
a provoking look. 

“I’m not,” said Larry, accepting the challenge. 

She laughed as if he had uttered a pearl of wit. 
“Where you stopping?” she asked. 

“Haven’t got a place yet.” 

“We got good rooms up-stairs.” 

Larry reflected that if Shane’s headquarters were 


The City by the Sea 101 

opposite he could scarcely do better. “All right,” he 
said, “if you got a front room.” 

It appeared upon inquiry at the desk that number 
one immediately overhead was vacant, and Larry 
agreed to take it. 

“I’ll fetch my bag afterwards,” he said. 

The ice was broken now—for that matter there 
never was any ice, and they went on playing the game 
with due regard to the unwritten rules. 

“You’re not the lonely kind yourself,” said Larry, 
with a glance at the chair lately occupied by the man in 
sport clothes. 

“Oh, him!” she said with a flirt of her straw- 
coloured head. 

“Quite a swell dresser,” said Larry. 

“He has to be.” 

“Why?” 

“He’s a house detective at the Donoughmore,” 
she said in a tone intended to impress. 

“No!” said Larry. 

“They have to dress swell to mix with the guests,” 
the girl went on, “but they feed their employes rot¬ 
ten, so he comes here for his dinners.” 

“I guess you’ve got hundreds,” said Larry. “All 
kinds.” 

She shrugged elaborately, and followed it with a 
certain look at Larry. This was intended to convey 
that she was indeed pestered by hundreds, but that 
there was still room in her affections for the right one. 
Larry made a suitable reply. 

Presently some more men arrived at the building 
opposite. The girl watched them curiously, and that 


102 Officer! 

gave Larry the opportunity to ask naturally: “Friends 
of yours?” 

She shook her head. “More detectives from dif¬ 
ferent hotels.” 

“What they having, a meeting?” 

“They’re coming to meet William B. Shane the 
famous New York detective . . . Wisht I could see 
him.” 

“What’s he doing here?” 

“Oh, after some swell New lork crook, I guess. 
He’s giving the detectives the description, see?” 

Larry’s heart sunk. What chance had he against 
such an organisation? “They all work together,” he 
said. 

“Why, sure,” said the girl. “What do you care?” 

Larry made haste to create a diversion. “I bet you 
could show me this burg,” he said. 

She allowed that she could. 

It was difficult for Larry to keep the game up. His 
heart was not in it. 

He had finished his meal, and was standing in the 
deserted restaurant with an elbow on the counter, still 
chaffing Maud (for such was her name) when he saw 
Shane issue out of the building opposite. 

“Well, I must be fetching my bag,” said Larry care¬ 
lessly, and strolled out. 

His action was instinctive. He was so afraid that 
Shane was about to find Phillida he could not bear to 
let him out of his sight. Thus the situation was com¬ 
pletely reversed. The tracked one had become the 
tracker. 


103 


The City by the Sea 

However, on this occasion Shane merely led him 
to a comfortable and unfashionable hotel near the 
Coastguard station, where the old detective sat down 
to his dinner. Satisfied of this, Larry continued on 
his way sore and dejected. In this game the cards were 
stacked against him. What could he hope to do? He 
had given up the idea of consulting the local police. 
They would only call on the hotel detectives, who 
were already working in Shane’s interest. He would 
get no help from them. 

Proceeding to the shops, Larry bought a few neces¬ 
sities and a bag to put them in. This he dropped in 
the restaurant at a moment when Maud was not vis¬ 
ible. He had no enthusiasm for another bout of 
repartee with that vivacious young person. 

He then went down to the boardwalk again. This 
was the way he had doped the matter out though 
without any great hope of success; everybody who 
comes to Atlantic City walks on the Boardwalk; there¬ 
fore if he took up a good position there, Phillida must 
pass him sooner or later. The only card that he held 
against Shane’s crowd was that he knew the girl by 
sight and they didn’t. At any rate nothing better oc¬ 
curred to him. 

He found his observation post in a niche between 
the show windows of a sweet shop on one side, and a 
trinket shop on the other. Here he stood, slowly 
turning between his teeth the cigar he had so often 
dreamed of smoking on duty. But it had not much 
savour now. The brightly lighted shops cast out a 
strong reflection on the faces of all the passers-by. At 


104 Officer! 

nine-thirty the walk was not crowded, and Larry had 
no difficulty in getting a good look in every face. At 
eleven in the morning or five in the afternoon there 
would have been a different story to tell. 

The day trippers had all gone home; the well-to-do 
hotel patrons were off amusing themselves in one way 
or another, and at this hour the principal element was 
the real Atlantic Citizen; queer craft finally come to 
anchor there. In the main they had a sort of down- 
at-the-heel sporting air; both sexes; young sports 
trapped by domesticity, pushing second-hand baby car¬ 
riages; old sports retired on a small annuity, flaunting 
the sport clothes of other years. Across the wide 
walk there was a great darkness, and the ocean snoring 
on the sands. Larry watched, hating the people, full 
of a bitter sense that this was a slow, slow way of 
achieving a burning desire. 

And then most miraculously, he did see her. She 
was not in the passing procession; out of the tail of 
his eye he saw her, and jerked around his head. He 
was just in time to catch her disappearing within a 
picture theatre a door or two away. He had only 
the briefest glimpse of her, but it was enough; the deli¬ 
cate profile slightly lifted, the adorable thin, firm cheek, 
even the little black hat and the blue silk dress had not 
been changed. Quicker than thought almost, the 
tumultuous blood rushed to his heart. 

He hastened into the lobby of the theatre. In an 
instant he was cool again; cool and single-minded. 
There was his mark and he went to it. Phillida had 
already passed into the theatre. He bought a ticket 
and followed. After the lighted lobby it was very dark, 


105 


The City by the Sea 

and there was some confusion, for the last show had 
just started, and people were both arriving and leav¬ 
ing. Larry got hold of a girl usher. 

“Young lady just came in,” he whispered. “Short, 
dark hair, black hat, blue silk dress. Which way?” 

The girl resented the question. “You’ll have to find 
her yourself,” she said shortly. “It’s not what I’m 
here for.” 

“Police officer,” whispered Larry sternly. 

She gasped: “Oh! . . . Honest, I can’t tell you, sir. 
I only throw my flash on their hands to see their 
tickets. They’re finding their own seats now.” 

Larry remained standing by the entrance doors. 
The stir in the house quieted down, and his eyes be¬ 
came accustomed to the semidarkness. There were 
three aisles. It was impossible to guess which one she 
had gone down. If he attempted to search the aisles 
in the dark, she would be almost sure to see him first. 
But he was not greatly disturbed. At any rate she 
could not get out again without passing him. 

But presently he reflected that any one entering so 
late would be likely to remain until the end. He 
knew that in such places it is customary at the end of 
the show to throw open the supplementary doors to 
facilitate the egress of the audience, and he became 
anxious again. 

He returned to the lobby; asked for the manager; 
privately showed his badge. 

“The woman I am after is inside,” he said. “I saw 
her go in a moment ago.” 

“Well . . . how can I help you?” the man asked 
reluctantly. 


106 Officer! 

“Do you open the side doors at the end of the 
show?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, keep them closed to-night, and force every¬ 
body out this way. I’ll get her.” 

“I can’t do it, friend,” said the worried manager. 
“It’s against the law to lock the doors, and if they’re 
not locked the folks who come here every night will 
push them open anyhow and go out.” 

Larry considered, frowning. “Well . . . turn up 
the lights for a few minutes and I’ll pick her out of 
the house.” 

The well-meaning man was divided between his 
respect for the law, and his fear of his audience. 
“What will you do?” he grumbled. “If I make them 
wait all the time you’re going through the house, 
they’ll get ugly.” 

“I won’t go through the house,” said Larry. 
“You’ve got a box alongside the stage. I’ll stand in 
the back of that and give them the once over while 
the lights are up.” 

“Well, give me five minutes to warn the operators,” 
said the manager. 

Larry was conducted to the box. There he waited 
with all his faculties tense. In due course the picture 
on the screen was suddenly shut off. A hastily written 
slide took its place: “Film broken; will continue im¬ 
mediately.” Then the lights went up and all those hun¬ 
dreds of faces sprang into view. 

The silent house broke into a murmur of talk. 
Bored at the sudden interruption of the entertain¬ 
ment, the people moved in their seats and shuffled their 


107 


The City by the Sea 

feet. From back within the shadow of the box Larry’s 
strained eyes searched the floor row by row. But to 
pick out a single face from that sea of faces was not 
so easy as he had supposed. Many heads were down, 
and some were turned around. After he had looked 
at fifty faces, all became slightly blurred. 

He might very well have failed altogether, had not 
Phillida betrayed herself. She must have caught 
sight of Larry in the shadow of the box. Across the 
house at the end of one of the rows Larry saw a slight 
figure in blue rise. One of the exit doors was beside 
her. She put a hand on it, and it swung out. She 
was gone like a shadow. One or two sitting near, 
looked after her curiously. 

Larry had a policeman’s wholesome fear of starting 
anything in a crowded house. He would not cry out 
to stop her. At his back was a door to the stage. 
He went through it and in an instant had gained the 
street. But on the other side of the house from Phil¬ 
lida. By the time he had run around the building, she 
was safely swallowed up amongst the promenaders on 
the Boardwalk. 


CHAPTER IX 


DETERMINATION 

L ARRY’S astonishing glimpse of Phillida had been 
followed so quickly by her escape, that she was 
gone before the full realisation of what had happened 
overcame him. A helpless grinding rage filled him 
then. To have been given such a chance and to have 
muffed it! Not likely he would get another. Shane 
would surely take her now. Oh, what a fool he had 
been! 

His great fear was, that having caught sight of him 
she would immediately fly from Atlantic City without 
leaving any clue. Satisfied that it was useless to search 
for her on the Boardwalk, he ran to the nearest rail¬ 
way station. Unfortunately for him there were two 
stations, and from each there were still trains to leave 
that night. Larry ran from one to the other. 

In each station he perceived a casual, wary gentle¬ 
man casting an eye on all who passed through the 
train gates. Shane’s men were on the job. This 
added a new element to Larry’s torments. Suppose 
Phillida turned up in one station while he was in the 
other? In the confusion that filled him the young man 
was clear only as to one thing; he would sooner, oh, 
far sooner have Phillida escape than to be taken by 
another man. If any other man laid hands on her 
Larry could see himself fighting blindly to free her, 
no matter what ruin and disgrace might ensue. 

108 


Determination 109 

However the last trains departed without Phillida’s 
having shown herself in either station. If she had 
peeped in, she too had perceived the wary, watchful 
figure at the train gates, and had retreated. 

At midnight Larry returned to his uninviting lodg¬ 
ing in the side street, and flung himself on his bed. 
He was appalled by the thought of the long hours of 
darkness that remained. There was nothing he could 
do until morning, and while he was forced to lie there 
idle on his bed, he could no longer keep his warring 
thoughts at bay. His thoughts were like two armies 
in his head, hacking and slashing at each other. 

Over and over he was compelled to make the same 
weary round. What had Phillida done anyway? 
That damned Englishman, Felix. What was he to 
her, and she to him? How was it that sometimes they 
appeared to be fighting each other, and sometimes 
helping each other? An ugly mystery here! . 
How could Phillida, when her guilt was so clear, still 
keep that high proud look of hers? A girl with a 
look like that must be on the square; there must be 
something fine about her. Hell! he knew she was on 
the Square! . . . What was he doing then, trailing 
her—like a hound? Bent on taking her in and dis¬ 
gracing her . o . But he couldn t let her go either 
—not to that Englishman! . . . Where was she 
now? Hiding terrified in some room within a stone s 
throw perhaps. His breast was wrenched with com¬ 
passion, but it was too late to turn back! 

“A blind confusion like this could only be met by a 
blind determination. ... I don’t care!” Larry said 
to himself. “I’m going to take her in. That’s my job. 


110 Officer! 

It’s useless to think about it. By God! I’ll take her 
in. In spite of Shane and all his men I’ll find a way. 
I’ll take her back, or I won’t go back myself ...” 

When Larry went down to breakfast the straw¬ 
haired girl in the restaurant was decidedly huffy. She 
considered that she had been badly used the night be¬ 
fore. In the morning light she was horrible to Larry 
(he was filled with the vision of Phillida!) neverthe¬ 
less he set out to conciliate her. She promised to be 
useful. He sat down at the first table where he could 
still watch Shane’s office across the street. 

“When I came back last night you were gone,” he 
said. 

“I was simply off duty,” she said stiffly. “I was 
sitting up in the parlor if you want to know. You 
could have asked.” 

“Gee! and I made sure you’d gone out with some 
other fellow!” said Larry regretfully. 

“Oh, well, it rully doesn’t make any difference,” she 
said grandly. 

Larry looking at her dispassionately, told himself 
that the reason she looked so horrible in the morning 
was because she looked just the same. You couldn’t 
get away from the feeling that she had gone to bed 
with that overelaborate hair-do and those paint- 
clogged cheeks, and had got up with them again. But 
he needed her as a means to acquaint himself with 
what was going on between Shane and his men. 
Through Maud he designed to make friends with the 
detective from the Donoughmore. 

He knew that Maud in spite of her scornful airs 
had a sturdy appetite for flattery. “You’re a swell- 


Determination 111 

looking girl to be working in a place like this,” he 
said unblushingly. 

“Think so?” said Maud, with a toss of the yellow 
puffs. 

“Yeh, you ought to go on the stage.” 

“Well, if I don’t, it isn’t for the lack of opportuni¬ 
ties,” said Maud. 

She allowed herself to be mollified. In fact she 
could not help herself. There was something about 
Larry that “got” her, as she would have phrased it. 
He came down to breakfast with a jaded air that lent 
a piquancy to his blooming good looks. What he had 
suffered during the night made him interesting. His 
reticence and his ill-concealed scorn were irresistible 
to the girl. Half aware that she was making a fool 
of herself, she nevertheless could not hold back. 

“Where did you go last night?” she demanded with 
her highty-tighty air. “You didn’t get in until near 
morning.” 

“Just bumming around,” said Larry. 

“Yeh, you look it. You look as if you had been 
drawed through a knothole.” 

Larry shrugged, knowing by instinct that this was 
nothing derogatory in her eyes. 

“Well, I suppose you found amusement,” she per¬ 
sisted. 

“Damn little,” said Larry. “Now if you had been 
along . . . 

“Ahh!” she said, scornful and pleased. 

In the course of this conversation Larry saw Shane 
come along the street and enter the building oppo¬ 
site. 


112 Officer! 

“Pm off from three to five to-day,” said Maud sug¬ 
gestively. 

“That so?” said Larry with a false geniality. “We 
must do something.” 

He made haste to finish eating, that when Shane 
reappeared he might be ready to follow him. 

“Oh, I already got a date,” said Maud. 

“Too bad,” said Larry. 

She did not expect to be let down so promptly. “I 
got your number,” she said bitterly. 

“I only aim to please,” said Larry. 

“If you was on the level, I might put the other 
fellow off,” she volunteered, her wistful eagerness 
peeping out. 

But Shane had come out of the building opposite. 
Larry rose. He lit a cigarette to show that he was 
not in any hurry. “I don’t see your friend the de¬ 
tective guy this morning,” he said carelessly. 

“He don’t come here to breakfast,” said Maud. 
“Only to dinner and supper . . . Where’ll we go?” 

“I’ll be back to dinner,” said Larry. “We’ll talk 
it over.” He strolled out. 

The girl’s eyes followed him with a wistful and 
resentful look. Larry took that sort of thing as a 
matter of course. Most girls were like that—except 
the one a fellow wanted! 

Shane was making his leisurely way in the direction 
of the Boardwalk, slapping the sidewalk with his ample 
feet, and looking in the shop windows as he passed, 
like a man at peace with himself. He never troubled 
to look behind him. But Larry was no longer con¬ 
temptuous of his adversary. Larry had matured over 


Determination 


113 


night and his wits were sharpened. It was present 
in his mind, that if Shane had wished to conceal his 
movements, he would probably have acted quite dif¬ 
ferently. 

If Shane had no object in concealing his movements, 
there was little to be gained by following him. How¬ 
ever Larry saw him as far as the Lonsdale, one of the 
big hotels on the ocean front. Shane ensconced him¬ 
self in a comfortable chair on the “deck” (as they 
call the broad veranda overlooking the Boardwalk) 
where he lit a cigar and ordered a long drink. He 
made a picture of a man yielding himself up to the 
enjoyment of the breeze from the sunny ocean, but 
Larry never doubted that the keen little eyes were 
sizing up all who passed below. Shane was proceed¬ 
ing just as he, Larry, had proceeded the night before. 
Out of his superior wisdom Larry smiled a little scorn¬ 
fully. . . . She’ll never venture out on the Board¬ 
walk to-day! 

Seeing Shane safely anchored, Larry went on about 
his own affairs. He had been debating the idea of 
disguising himself—not from Shane, but from Phil- 
lida. For while he had an advantage over the Shane 
crowd in knowing Phillida, he suffered from the dis¬ 
advantage that Phillida knew him. She would not 
know any of the others. In fact she might not know 
that there was anybody looking for her but Larry. 
The question was, What disguise could one get up on 
the spur of the moment? It must be something most 
unlike himself, yet not too conspicuous. One out of 
every three young men that he passed supplied the 
answe r—one of these Shore Johnnies of course! 


114 


Officer! 


The mode of the moment for young men comprised 
white shoes and socks, cream colored flannel trousers, 
white outing shirt left picturesquely open at the 
throat. Over this was worn a tweed Norfolk jacket 
left unbuttoned, but loosely belted around the waist; 
no hat. The more dashing spirits negligently carried 
a racket to convey the impression that they were on 
their way to or from tennis. There were not enough 
courts in Atlantic City to accommodate one tenth of 
the rackets that were to be seen. 

Being in the fashion, all these things were easily 
procurable at the shops. Larry had not the face to 
go the tennis racket, but knowing that his eyes 
were his most conspicuous feature, he added to the 
rest of the outfit a pair of broad-rimmed glasses with 
slightly smoked lenses. These also were much worn. 

He carried it all to his room and dressed. Larry 
had a thick crop of bright, tawny hair with a wave in 
it, almost too picturesque for a regular fellow. He 
was a little ashamed of it, and always wore it brushed 
tight to his skull. He fluffed it up a bit now. It 
made a startling difference in his appearance. 

Surveying himself in the mirror finally, he had to 
admit that though he despised the part, he certainly 
looked it. As a matter of fact he more than looked 
it; he was it; he was the actual thing that all the 
poor little clerks on their two weeks’ vacation made 
believe to be: a blatant physical specimen. Few were 
the bare throats as strong and comely as Larry’s. 

At dinner time he went down stairs feeling highly 
self-conscious. He had the smoked glasses in his 
pocket. He feared that Maud might be surprised 


Determination 115 

into making loud and indiscreet comments on his 
changed appearance. Before venturing into the res¬ 
taurant he surveyed it from the passage at the side. 
It was filling up, but the man he so much desired to 
make up to had not come. Larry loitered in the side 
door of the place, smoking one cigarette after another, 
until he saw his man come along the street and turn 
into the restaurant. The detective was dressed much 
as Larry was, but with the addition of a necktie and 
hat, which gave him a soberer look. 

Larry followed him in. There was a vacant seat 
at the same table, and Larry took it. With covert 
glances he sized his man up. Like most detectives he 
affected a hard-boiled air, but Larry was not much 
impressed by it. There was a suggestion of foolish¬ 
ness in the hard eye. A man who would bluff his 
way along, Larry thought, but would cut a pretty poor 
figure in the final show-down. Fifteen years older 
than Larry, and conceited. You could tell it the way 
his eye roved around looking for approval. Necessity 
was making Larry observant. The man s glance at 
Larry suggested antagonism towards the younger and 
better-favoured man. Larry tried to look humble in 
order to propitiate him. 

When the busy Maud caught sight of Larry, she 
said nothing, but her mouth opened in astonishment. 
Then she flushed under her rouge. The poor girl 
evidently thought he had dressed himself up to take 
her out. For a moment she lost her grip and looked 
soft and foolish. It was quite touching, but Larry 
was merely annoyed. Above all he didn t wish to 
arouse the other man’s jealousy. 


116 


Officer! 


But Maud quickly recovered herself. And while 
she gave her eyes to Larry, she devoted all her con¬ 
versation to the other man. Her eyes said to Larry: 
I have to string this guy along, but you don’t need to 
feel jealous. A very sprightly exchange took place. 
Larry picked up the man’s name: Klein. Klein evi¬ 
dently prided himself on his restaurant wit. Larry, 
with the wisdom of the serpent, permitted himself to 
laugh discreetly at Klein’s jokes, and glanced admir¬ 
ingly at the older man. Klein’s antagonism vanished. 

As in all such places, the dinners were served and 
swallowed with a marvellous celerity. The meal was 
over almost as soon as it had begun. Only Klein had 
wasted time in joshing Maud, and Larry had held 
back in order to keep pace with Klein. Presently the 
two of them were left alone at that table. Larry 
was determined to make friends with the man, and 
determination is usually rewarded in a world full of 
weak-willed people. Klein warmed to the young man 
who so obviously admired him. 

“Seen you before, ain’t I?” he asked. 

“Had supper here last night,” said Larry. 

“Oh, that was it. I never forget a face . . . Not 
so bad for a cheap place, is it? I only come here be¬ 
cause it’s convenient to my business.” 

“Sure,” said Larry. “I came here because I didn’t 
know any places.” 

“Well, you might ’a’ done worse,” said Klein con¬ 
descendingly. “Not a bad little place. Not a bad 
little place.” 

“So you’re in business here,” ventured Larry. “Not 
just a visitor.” 


Determination 117 

Klein declined to be drawn along that line. “Yes, 
sort of,” he said vaguely. 

Maud returned to their table. To Klein she said 
confidentially: “The peach dumpling’s the best on the 
dessert to-day. I put one aside for you.” 

“Thanks, darling,” said Klein jocosely. 

“Fresh!” said Maud with a toss of the straw-col¬ 
oured puffs. 

“I hope so,” said Klein with a wink at Larry. 

Larry thought he might get in this now, as long 
as he took care to play second fiddle to Klein. “How 
about me?” he asked Maud. 

“Oh, do you want one too?” she asked coldly. But 
the glance she gave Larry was not cold. “I’ll see.” 

“She’s a wise one,” said Larry to Klein. 

“Wise!” said Klein. “The Queen of Sheba had 
nothing on her!” 

“A girl working in a place like this sees life.” 

“You bet she does, fellow. Inside and out.” 

“You know how to handle them!” said Larry def¬ 
erentially. 

Klein swelled a little. “Why shouldn’t I? I know 
life myself.” 

“Anybody could see that. I bet there isn’t much 
doing here that you’re not wise to.” 

“Not much,” said Klein. “It’s my business to be 
wise to things . . . I’m in the management of the 
Donoughmore,” he added with an air. 

“That so?” said Larry with an increased air of re¬ 
spect. “The biggest hotel here!” 

“The biggest resort hotel in the world, young fel¬ 
low!” 


118 


Officer! 

“Gee! I’d like to see the inside of that place!” 

“Why don’t you stroll in and take a look?” 

“Would they let me?” asked Larry with an inno¬ 
cent air. 

“Oh, we don’t try to keep people out of the lobby,” 
said Klein. “If they look all right it’s all right. And 
if they don’t look all right they’re scared to come in.” 

To Larry’s annoyance, Maud returned to their 
table with the dumplings. She had not so much to do 
now, and she lingered while they ate them, retorting 
to Klein’s sallies, and casting side glances at Larry. 

Finally Klein arose. “Got to see a man across the 
street,” he said. 

A sharp anxiety attacked Larry. What did he want 
to see Shane about? 

Larry rose also. As the two men started to move 
away, he became aware that Maud was looking at 
him queerly, and he recollected with a disagreeable 
start that he had allowed her to suppose he was going 
to take her out that afternoon. 

“I’ll be back,” he whispered. 

At the door of the restaurant he contrived to detain 
Klein for a moment with the offer of a cigarette. 
They lit up. 

“What’s your particular job at the Donoughmore ?” 
asked Larry. 

“It’s my job to protect the management and the 
guests from crooks,” said Klein, blowing a cloud of 
smoke. 

“That so?” said Larry. “You wouldn’t think 
crooks would dare to operate in the Donoughmore.” 

“Don’t you fool yourself, young fellow. The big- 


Determination 


119 


ger the place, and the more rich people that go there, 
the more tempting it is to crooks. Not the common 
rat-faced kind of course. Swell crooks. Hard to 
detect from the real thing.” 

“Gosh!” said Larry. “Interesting work. What 
sort of games do they try on now?” 

“All sorts. All the games you ever heard of, and 
many a new one too.” 

“Women too?” 

“Them’s the worst,” said Klein. “I got a case 
on to-day. Sweetest looking girl you ever saw. You’d 
swear she was a lady born and bred. Wanted by the 
New York police for robbing the Hotel Colebrook.” 

Larry’s heart gave a great jump. He studied his 
cigarette. He needed every bit of self-control that 
he possessed. He managed to say casually: “What 
about her?” 

“Every detective in Atlantic City is looking for 
her,” said Klein. “William B. Shane’s in charge of 
the case. She’s supposed to be in with a big gang of 
hotel thieves, see? Well, she registered at our hotel 
an hour ago, cool as you please.” 

“Have you arrested her?” asked Larry, with his 
heart in his mouth. 

“Not yet,” said Klein. “A fellow in my position 
has to be damn careful, you see. If I made a mistake 
it would be awkward. I only have a verbal description 
of the girl.” 

“What you going to do ?” 

“I’ve got a date to meet Shane across the road at 
one o’clock. He’s got a photograph of her. I’ll 
borrow it.” 


1120 Officer! 

Larry clamped down the lid of self-control. He 
could not afford to get excited now. But it was mad¬ 
dening to think that the information vital to him was 
inside Klein’s thick skull, and he not able to get it out. 
The name Phillida had registered under, the num¬ 
ber of her room! He could not ask Klein such ques¬ 
tions of course. 

“Then what will you do?” he asked in a carefully- 
controlled voice. “Go to her room and arrest her?” 

“Not on your life!” said Klein. “You learn to be 
prudent in our business. I’ll let her come out of her 
room, and walk around a bit, and compare her with 
the photograph before I act, see? If you want to see 
how we handle these things, be around the lobby in 
about half an hour.” 

“All right,” murmured Larry. 

“But don’t recognise me, see? I’ll be on duty 
then.” 

“I get you.” 

“Well, so long,” said Klein, and struck off across the 
road. 

Larry turned blindly in the direction of the Board¬ 
walk. As soon as he could get around the corner, he 
broke into a run. 


CHAPTER X 


THE DONOUGHMORE 

F ROM the Boardwalk the Hotel Donoughmore, 
the tallest tower of all on the sea front, is en¬ 
tered under the “deck.” You pass through a short 
arcade between very smart shops, mount a half stair 
and find yourself in the amazing lobby. A majestic 
carpeted Mall flanked by lofty pillars leads to the 
centre of the long building. The great height of 
the place is accentuated by its narrowness; tall palms 
spread motionless over your head. The deep bays be¬ 
tween the pillars are set out with “over-stuffed settees 
and deep chairs. The whole is designed out of a subtle 
knowledge of humankind, which divides itself generally 
into performers and spectators. What greater satis¬ 
faction could a well-dressed woman know than to 
parade that Mall with a man at heel? And for mere 
spectators what a show is spread before those cush¬ 
ioned seats! On the other hand, the humbler-minded 
sort of people find it rather embarrassing when they in 
turn have to hump and shuffle along that carpet. It 
seems like half a mile from the head of the stairs to 
the elevators. 

When Larry entered the Donoughmore he was far 
too excited to be afflicted with self-consciousness. His 
only concern was not to look as wild as he felt. Ah! 
if Phillida were only there! If she were only there! 
121 


122 Officer! 

His strained eyes flew from face to face among the 
promenaders, and searched among the chairs and 
settees. She was not there. He walked the length of 
the corridor, and came back again. She was not there. 

He had hardly expected to find her there on dis¬ 
play, nevertheless a sickening disappointment filled 
him. For what could he do now? Somewhere in that 
vast warren of rooms over his head she was con¬ 
cealed, and he was unable to get her out. He was 
ready for any desperate measures, but desperate meas¬ 
ures were of no avail. Suppose he stood in the ro¬ 
tunda and shouted for her; she would not come; and 
he would quickly be hustled out. 

He went to the desk with the idea of consulting the 
register. He was not familiar with Phillida’s hand¬ 
writing. He had had a glimpse of it across the table 
the day before, but too far away for its characteristics 
to have become fixed in his mind. Still Klein said she 
had only been there an hour. The register might give 
him a clue. 

As he started to read the framed card that lay on 
the desk, a clerk asked him courteously: “Whom do 
you wish to see?” 

“Miss Esterbrook,” Larry answered at random. 

“Enquire at the telephone desk, please.” 

“But she’s just come,” answered Larry. “Her 
name wouldn’t be entered yet.” 

He was allowed to read the names of the latest 
arrivals. For convenience’s sake there were several 
cards. It appeared that the principal trains of the 
day arrived at this time, and even within the hour 
there had been fifty arrivals. Among these there were 


123 


The Donoughmore 

half a score of women travelling alone; some Mrs., 
some Miss. Any one of these might be Phillida. 
What good did that do him? He couldn’t ask for them 
one by one. In any case Klein would be along in a 
few minutes. He turned away from the desk in de¬ 
spair. 

Back and forth through the main floor he searched. 
There were two great dining-rooms. Phillida was 
not in either one as far as he could see from the doors. 
In the rotunda opposite the semicircle of elevators, 
there was a wide, shallow stairway curving up from 
below. At the foot of it was the entrance from the 
side street, used by those who arrived at the hotel in 
taxicabs or wheel chairs. There were many smaller 
rooms opening off the lobby; parlors, writing rooms, 
a beauty parlor for women and so forth. 

It finally occurred to Larry that in wandering back 
and forth he stood the best chance of missing her. 
Much better take up a fixed post where he could ob¬ 
serve all who came and went. He chose a seat fac¬ 
ing the grand promenade in a spot where he could see 
the desk, the elevators, the stairway, the entrances to 
the two dining-rooms. Moving his chair slightly be¬ 
hind one of the great pillars, he seated himself out¬ 
wardly composed, inwardly burning. 

Very soon Klein came along the promenade from 
the front entrance, and Shane was with him. Evi¬ 
dently the great man considered Klein’s information 
of sufficient importance to warrant his presence. They 
passed by Larry without paying any attention to him, 
and proceeded to the hotel desk where Klein made an 
inquiry. The clerk glanced in the rack of letter boxes 


124 


Officer! 

behind him, nodded, and put out a hand towards the 
telephone. Shane stopped him with a gesture. 

All this was perfectly comprehensible to the anxious 
watcher. The lady they had asked for was presum¬ 
ably in her room, but Shane did not wish to have any 
word sent to her. 

The two men held a brief colloquy in the centre of 
the rotunda, then Klein went down the stairway. Evi¬ 
dently they had decided that since the elevators ran 
through to the lower entrance, it would be safer to 
watch both floors. Shane came and seated himself 
alongside the promenade on the same side as Larry, 
but nearer the elevators. Producing a cigar, he care¬ 
fully trimmed the end, removed the band, and, lighting 
up, leaned back in evident enjoyment. To the tor¬ 
mented Larry there was something wildly exasperat¬ 
ing in the older man’s impassivity. He glared at 
Shane’s bald spot, gritting his teeth. 

There followed for Larry a truly hellish period, 
forced as he was to sit there waiting, waiting for al¬ 
most certain disaster; unable to move a muscle to for- 
stall it. There was a chance that he, knowing Phil- 
lida in the flesh, might recognise her before Shane, 
but how remote a chance! Meanwhile his strained 
eyeballs were scorching in his head, and all his energy 
was used up in the effort to sit quiet. The people 
drifted aimlessly back and forth . . . Silly, over¬ 
dressed fools! he thought, as he searched amongst 
them longing and dreading to discover the only one in 
the world who mattered to him. How long a time 
passed he never could have told. 

The beating of Larry’s heart suddenly altered its 


The Donoughmore 125 

tempo. The eyes almost started from his head. He 
had the impulse to dash away some obstructing cloud 
in front of them. He beheld a woman swaying to¬ 
wards him—Phillida, and not Phillida! His heart 
recognised her while yet his eyes were deceived. Of 
all the women he had seen in that place the most 
worldly, the most artificial, the most exotic! Every 
head in the hotel turned to look after her, and the 
mock demure expression of her slightly downcast eyes 
suggested that she was fully aware of it, and deeply 
gratified. 

It was not only her appearance that was changed 
—the skillfully made-up face, the clinging, eccentri¬ 
cally-draped black dress, the amusing short wrap, the 
daring little Paris hat with its provoking veil to the 
tip of her nose, but her very character seemed to have 
been metamorphosed, and therein lay the real dis¬ 
guise; the affected, undulating walk, the languid, as¬ 
sured look of one who had been years on parade; in 
short the hotel beauty par excellence. But though 
Larry might have the impulse to rub his eyes, it was 
certainly Phillida; Phillida’s magical eyes under the 
little veil. 

Stepping out of an elevator, she had turned to¬ 
wards the front of the building. She had the key to 
her room in her hand. It was possible for Larry 
to have run down the corridor and seized her before 
she reached Shane. But he held himself down. So 
marvellous was her disguise that a wild hope sprang 
up in his breast that Shane would not be able to pene¬ 
trate it. Larry suddenly became quite cool. It was 
worth risking. He awaited the test with all his fac- 


126 Officer! 

ulties hanging suspended, as one might await the 
supreme issue. 

Would she succeed in deceiving the old fox? Like 
everybody else in the vicinity Shane was watching 
the girl, but Larry could see only the back of his head. 
Phillida, idly twirling the metal tag attached to her 
room key, slowly came closer. She came abreast of 
Shane. He did not move. She passed him, where¬ 
upon he turned his head, and Larry could see his face. 
It betrayed only the interested look that one bestows 
on any line specimen. She had deceived him! Larry’s 
tight breast relaxed. The reaction was too violent. 
The hardy young man was guilty of trembling a little. 

Before Phillida reached him he had drawn a little 
further behind his pillar. She did not see him. Larry 
wished to let her get away a little. If he arrested her 
in the very sight of Shane, there would be a certain 
triumph in it, but Larry mistrusted lest the experienced 
old man should somehow contrive to steal the credit 
from him. Larry allowed her to get well by and then 
arose negligently. There were plenty of people in 
the corridor, and his action was not at all noticeable. 
He sauntered after the girl. Outside on the Board¬ 
walk he could quietly take her arm, and there need 
be no fuss. At the thought of taking that soft arm, 
what a strange tingling shot through his arm to the 
very shoulder! 

But Phillida did not descend the few steps that led 
into the arcade, and thence to the Boardwalk. In¬ 
stead, she turned aside out of the promenade, and dis¬ 
appeared within the “beauty parlour” that opened out 


The Donoughmore 127 

of a corner of the lobby. When the curtain was 
held back from the doorway, Larry had a glimpse of 
an exquisite little salon in grey and rose, with lady at¬ 
tendants of an extreme hauteur. He dared not follow 
into such a sanctuary. A knifelike anxiety attacked 
him. However, a moment’s investigation of the 
rooms on either side convinced him there could be 
no other entrance to the place. He sat down to await 
Phillida’s reappearance. 

When she disappeared his unnatural coolness went 
with her. His pulses pounded queerly; he was alter¬ 
nately elated and depressed. He could scarcely be¬ 
lieve that the game was actually in his own hands. 
Yet Shane had certainly been fooled; Shane was still 
watching the elevators. And he, Larry, against whom 
that disguise had been adopted, had had the wit to 
see through it. (He didn’t give any credit to his 
heart for that.) He had her, and there was the 
journey to New York to follow; all those hours side 
by side together . . . After that there was a grey 
curtain of dread hanging down, and Larry refused 
to lift it. 

In due course Phillida reappeared. Larry was 
keeping himself carefully in the background, and she 
did not see him. As to what mysterious spells had 
been worked upon her in the beauty parlour he could 
not guess. She looked just the same. To his dismay, 
instead of leaving the hotel now, she turned back 
through the promenade towards the elevators. This 
would bring her past Shane again. No particular 
danger in that; if he had been fooled once he could be 


128 


Officer! 


fooled again; but Larry could hardly expect to pass 
him without being recognised, and if Shane saw Larry 
following the girl . . . 

Larry made a wide detour around the chairs and 
settees in the rear of Shane, and crossing the rotunda 
(keeping the back of his head turned towards the old 
detective), contrived to arrive at the elevators about 
the same time that Phillida did. She entered an ele¬ 
vator; he followed. The car was full, and she did not 
look at him. She got out at the ninth floor, and un¬ 
concernedly made her way towards the front of the 
building. Larry loitered behind her. She unlocked 
the door of a room and went in without looking behind 
her. 

Larry, breathing deep to steady himself, knocked 
on the door. It was promptly opened. He advanced 
his foot. Phillida stood holding the door, her look 
merely one of cold surprise. But as her lips were in 
the act of shaping the words: “What do you want?” 
she recognised him. Her lip curled in pain and scorn; 
her eyes turned sideways full of a sort of disgust. She 
shrugged and let the door swing wide. 

“So it’s you again,” she said with a mirthless laugh. 

That was how she took it. Her disgust had the 
effect of hardening Larry, and the policeman in him 
took the ascendency. “You’re under arrest,” he said 
without a tremor. 

Turning her back on him abruptly, she walked 
away into the room. Larry took one step over the 
threshold. She leaned her head against the window 
frame, and looked out to sea. As a matter of fact, 
notwithstanding her cool airs, she was badly shaken, 


The Donoughmore 129 

and was lighting to regain her composure. He could 
hear her muttering under her breath just as a strong 
man might curse his luck. “All my work for nothing l 
. . . Spoiled by a blundering dunderhead of a police¬ 
man! . . . It’s too much! . . 

Larry flushed darkly, and his eyes fairly stuck out 
with indignation. A common crook to be taking this 
high and mighty air with the police! Trying to be¬ 
little him in the performance of his duty! Her old 
tricks! “That will do you no good!” he said. 

His anger bucked her up. She turned to him with 
a mocking smile. “You must be cleverer than you 
look,” she said coolly. “How did you manage to fol¬ 
low me to this place ?” 

To have her eyes fixed full upon him confused Larry 
very much. There was a destroying power in them. 
He tried to harden himself against it. “Never mind 
that now,” he said. 

“And this disguise,” she went on, looking down at 
herself. “I spent some hours thinking it up. It cost 
me a pretty penny too. It ought to have deceived 
sharper eyes than yours.” 

“You couldn’t get by me with any disguise,” re¬ 
torted Larry. He did not add: “Because I love you,” 
but it was the truth. 

“Well, what are you going to do with me?” she 
asked. 

“Take you to New York.” 

There was a silence. She was now standing in front 
of the dressing table, her knuckles upon it, her head 
lowered, her face a thoughtful mask. Larry, watch¬ 
ing her uneasily, wondered what was going through 


130 


Officer! 

her head. It was fatal to look at her. The pure, 
childlike profile outlined against the window behind, 
melted his breast. In a panic, he could feel his 
strength slipping from him. 

“Get your things together,” he said harshly. “The 
last through train’s at 3.30.” 

His tone caused her to glance at him again with 
quick, mocking amusement. Larry scowled. “What is 
there about me that’s so funny?” he asked himself. 
With a swift glance at the watch on her wrist, Phil- 
lida commenced very slowly to gather up her belong¬ 
ings. 

“I hope you’ll let me change this rig,” she said 
presently. “I feel like a fool in it ... I wish I could 
return it, and get my money back.” 

“You’ll have to come as you are,” said Larry, blush¬ 
ing. “I won’t let you out of my sight.” 

She laughed at his discomfiture. “Oh, I can change 
in the bathroom,” she said carelessly. “Take a look 
in there to satisfy yourself there’s no way out.” 

Larry closed the door into the hall, and stuck his 
head through the bathroom door, feeling like a fool. 
She made it so clear that she scarcely regarded him as 
a man at all. I’ll show her! he said to himself, know¬ 
ing all the time that if he let himself go at all it would 
only be to grovel before her. She had taken some¬ 
thing from him that he couldn’t get back. And it was 
nothing to her. 

She slipped into the bathroom leaving Larry stand- 
ing stiffly with his back against the hall door. When 
she was out of sight his eyes went eagerly about the 


The Donoughmore 131 

room; her room; her hair brush on the dressing-table, 
her old soft slippers on the floor. Ah! if only things 
had not set them against each other! 

She came back wearing an embroidered blue kimono, 
and carrying the slinky French dress over her arm. 
She tossed it on the bed. Larry made believe not to 
look at it, but it had a curious attraction for him. 
How he would have liked to touch it, warm from her 
body! Phillida sat before the dressing-table, and com¬ 
menced to dab cold cream into her cheeks. All her 
movements were free of self-consciousness. Larry 
might as well have not been there at all. 

While she was intent upon the mirror he could 
watch her; the flying fingers, the loose sleeves falling 
back from the perfect forearms. It gave him a pleas¬ 
ure that was as much pain. When she got the 
make-up off, her own clear, pale cheeks and unmarked 
eyes were infinitely prettier. Putting up her hands 
she drew out various pins, and removed some sort of 
an arrangement. Then with a shake of the head, her 
own short, dark, shining tresses fell about her ears, 
and she looked perfectly adorable. That remem¬ 
bered head, so like a boy’s and not like a boy’s! Grace 
rested upon it. Larry could no longer pretend to 
stand out against her. His soul yielded itself up 
through his blue eyes. 

Phillida turned her head and caught him unawares. 
Her mouth opened, and her hands dropped on the 
table. A quick, bright flush overspread her face, and 
her eyes flashed angrily. “What’s the matter with 
you?” she demanded. 


132 Officer! 

Larry, turning red too and scowling, could only 
mutter: “Ahh! What do you think I am? I wouldn’t 
harm you!” 

Phillida’s anger was gone in a flash, but she seemed 
to have received a slight shock. She looked away 
from Larry, and looked back again, a little surprised 
and incredulous. Her own soul was guarded deep. 
Then she shook her head as if to rid herself of some¬ 
thing troublesome, and went on with her preparations. 
Nothing more was said, but each was dimly aware 
that they had passed a stage in their relations. Phil- 
lida had looked at Larry as at a man. Her subse¬ 
quent movements betrayed a trace of self-conscious¬ 
ness. 

She went back into the bathroom, and presently 
emerged wearing the blue silk dress that Larry knew 
so well. Standing before the mirror, she pulled on the 
little close-fitting black hat that he thought became 
her better than the finest confection from Paris. Then 
she set to work collecting her things. 

So slow was she about this, that Larry to save his 
own self-respect was forced to take notice of it. 
“Please hurry,” he said stiffly. 

“You can’t expect me to rush to my own doom,” 
she said with her mocking smile—but she did not look 
at him. 

“If we miss the train I’ll have to put you in the 
lock-up here for the night,” said Larry. 

“We’ve already missed it,” she said with a glance 
at her watch. “It’s twenty-eight minutes past.” 

“Then we’ll have to go by Philadelphia. It’s 
longer.” 


The Donoughmore 133 

‘Thought you said you were going to put me in the 
lock-up here?” 

Silence from Larry. 

“Shall you handcuff me?” she asked wickedly. 

“Ahh!” muttered Larry. 

Just the same, there was a fearful joy in the thought. 
He could handcuff her if he wanted to. For the next 
few hours she would be absolutely within his power. 
He was not at all sorry that they were forced to go the 
longest way. He longed for that railway journey un¬ 
speakably. Not that it would bear thinking out. But 
just to be sitting beside her. 

She made no pretence of hurrying her preparations. 

“What made you so keen on my trail?” she asked 
abruptly. 

“It was just my job,” said the startled Larry. 

She shook her head. “There’s more in it than that. 
You’re vicious about it . . . You never would have 
run me down if you hadn’t made it a personal matter. 
Will it mean promotion for you?” 

“Ahh! to hell with promotion,” muttered Larry. 

“What have you got against me, then?” 

Larry took refuge in silence. 

She looked at him speculatively. “You’re very 
young for a policeman,” she remarked. 

“You’ve got to begin sometime,” said Larry. 

“But I can’t understands young policeman.” 

“What’s youngness got to do with it?” 

“Well, you think of a young man as a natural 
rebel.” 

Larry was more than ever startled. For how many 
times within the past few days had he not longed to 


134 Officer! 

tear off his badge and grind it under his heel. That 
he might be free, free to follow his inclinations like 
other men! If he were only free at this moment— 
but it would never do to let her know what he was 
thinking, the witch. 

“It’s a good enough job,” he began. “It’s honest 
work. There’s nothing to be ashamed . . .” 

She was not listening. A certain abstracted look 
suggested to him that she was just stringing him along 
to gain time. He got hot again. 

“If you don’t get a hustle on I’ll have to take you 
without your things,” he said gruffly. 

Again, that lightning glance at her watch. “I’ve 
got about everything now,” she said coolly. She held 
the French hat away from her, regarding it. “I’ll 
have to carry this thing in my hand. Don’t suppose 
I’ll ever wear it again, but it cost too much just to let 
it go.” The glint of mockery was in her eye. 

“Bring it or leave it as you please,” said Larry. 
“Come on!” 

“One moment,” she said. “I’ve lost something.” 
She commenced to search through the empty bureau 
drawers. 

“What have you lost?” 

“A gold bar-pin. I had it a little while ago.” 

She searched all over the room, including the most 
unlikely places. There could be no doubt but she was 
just fooling him. 

“Come on!” he said harshly. “I’ve had enough 
of this.” 

“I won’t come until I have found my pin,” she said 
coolly. 


The Donoughmore 135 

“You’ll come when I tell you, or I’ll . . 

“What? Drag me through the corridors?” she 
asked mockingly. “Why don’t you telephone down 
to the office for assistance?” 

Larry could only stand glaring at her while she 
continued her pretended search. 

Suddenly she changed her tone. “Oh, let it go!” 
She went to her valise where it stood on a chair, and 
appeared to be struggling with it. “I’ve put so many 
extra things in it I can’t get it shut,” she complained. 
“Will you try?” 

Larry went to her, and pressed the edges together. 
It latched easily. He looked at her with a sudden sus¬ 
picion. She was unnaturally still. A flicker of her 
glance in the direction of the door, caused him to turn 
his head quickly. The door which he had shut, was 
open, and he beheld an elegantly-dressed figure slip¬ 
ping around it, drawn revolver in hand. Larry be¬ 
came aware of Mr. Felix. 

The Englishman’s revolver arm went up, and Larry 
was unpleasantly forced to take notice of the bullets 
in the visible chambers. “Put your hands up,” Mr. 
Felix said, not loud. With his free hand he was 
softly closing the door behind him. 

Larry automatically obeyed. 

In the first moment he felt nothing at all. In the 
second moment a blinding flame of rage seared his 
brain. Not at the thought of having his hard-won 
prize snatched from him—that came later; it was the 
sight of that damnable Englishman entering the girl’s 
room as a matter of established right. Without mov¬ 
ing his head, Larry turned his eyes on her, full of an 


136 Officer! 

unfathomable reproach. Because he had banked on 
her straightness! Had she mocked him in that mo¬ 
ment, or exulted, he would have gone mad and flung 
himself on the loaded revolver. But her face was 
neither glad nor sorry; just very still. She did not 
look at Larry. 

Her stillness saved him. He kept his hands up. 
The other man had the drop on him, a situation to 
which the bravest man must yield. There was no 
doubt but that the Englishman was desperate. His 
light grey eyes betrayed a panic fear more dangerous 
to Larry than the most reckless courage. 

“What’s he doing here?” he whispered to the girl. 

“He followed me, I suppose.” 

“How long has he been here?” 

“Half an hour perhaps. I kept him.” 

Larry’s eyes blazed at the girl, but she declined to 
look at him. 

“Is there anybody with him?” whispered the Eng¬ 
lishman. 

“I don’t think so.” 

The Englishman hung in horrible indecision; his 
finger itched on the trigger. Larry’s eyes held his 
unflinchingly. 

Then Mr. Felix made up his mind. 

“Get behind me,” he snarled to the girl. 

She made to obey, automatically picking up her 
valise. 

“Drop it! Drop it!” he said sharply. 

She got behind him. 

Without taking his eyes from Larry, he said: “Open 


The Donoughmore 137 

the door, and change the key from the inside to the 
outside.” 

She did so. 

“Now get on the outside of the door, and hold it 
open wide enough for me to back through.” 

The instant he was through it, Larry flung himself 
at the door, but they got it closed and the key turned. 
He beat upon the door, and shouted, but there was 
no sound from the other side. 

Bethinking himself there was a quicker way to sum¬ 
mon help, he ran to the telephone. A precious half 
minute slipped away before he got the desk. 

“This is Harker. New York police. A man and 
a woman are trying to get out. Hotel thieves. Stop 
them. Girl in blue silk dress, small black hat; man in 
grey suit, looks like an Englishman.” 

The frightened voice at the other end of the wire 
stammered: “Wh . . what? Wh . . what? . . .” 

“Stop them! Stop them!” shouted Larry. “Tell 
Klein! Tell Shane! They’re in the lobby.” 

The receiver at the other end was dropped with a 
crash, and Larry knew that he had obtained action of 
some sort. He listened, gritting his teeth, unable to 
call attention to his own plight until the receiver was 
picked up again. 

Finally the scared voice reached his ears once more. 
“Hello? Are you there?” 

“I’m here.” 

“I told Mr. Shane. He’s after them.” 

“Then send up here quick and let me out,” said 
Larry. “Room 920. I’m locked in.” 


CHAPTER XI 

THROUGH THE AIR 

L ARRY was quickly liberated. When he got down 
to the hotel lobby, he found a little group of 
clerks gathered outside the desk. With the first in¬ 
stinct of a hotel-man, they were trying to conceal their 
excitement to keep it from communicating to the 
guests. The fugitives had not been intercepted, and 
every moment it was becoming clearer that they had 
made a getaway. 

Shane came strolling up to the group. He was not 
in the least excited. The invariable cigar was rolling 
composedly between his lips. “Well, young fellow,’’ 
he said jocularly to Larry, “here we are again! You 
seem to have balled things up nicely!” 

Larry had to take this standing. His heart was 
bitter. 

“Well, I guess they’re gone,” said Shane with mad¬ 
dening cheerfulness. 

“How could they get out?” Larry burst out. 
“Within half a minute I had a call through to the desk. 
Somebody else has balled things up!” 

“It was easy,” said Shane calmly. “Got off at the 
first bedroom floor, and made their way down by the 
deck. This hotel is ideally planned for crooks. I’ve 
pointed it out before.” 

Larry could no longer hold himself in. He broke 
into a low heartfelt cursing. He had lost more than 
his prisoner. 


138 


139 


Through the Air 

“Keep your shirt on,” said Shane. “You may not 
know it, but Atlantic City is built on an island. There 
are only six ways of getting off it. They’re all 
watched.” 

“What are you going to do?” asked Larry. 

“Ah! you’re willing to work with me now?” said 
Shane. 

Larry had to swallow that too. “Yes, if you’ll let 
me,” he muttered. 

“Sure,” said Shane good-naturedly. “But I don’t 
know anything you can do. I’ll have ’em by nightfall. 
Tell me what took place up-stairs.” 

“People are beginning to look at us,” said the chief 
clerk nervously. “Come into the office.” 

In this little room behind the elevators Larry told 
his tale briefly. Shane listened to it with the air of 
one who understood more than Larry related. . To 
the office of the Association he telephoned additional 
particulars of the description of the fugitives. 

Klein came in to report that the two were not in 
the hotel. When he saw Larry, the house detective’s 
face offered a study. “What the hell . . .!” he stut¬ 
tered. 

“So you know this young fellow, too,” said Shane 
humorously. 

“I don’t know what his name is,” said Klein vio¬ 
lently. “But I know him all right!” 

“It’s Officer Harker of the New York police force,” 
said Shane. 

“You—! You tried to double-cross me, didn’t 
you?” said Klein hotly. 

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” said Shane, grinning. 


140 Officer! 

“Cut it out!” said Larry to Klein. “I’ll see you 
later if you want. I’m not interested now.” To 
Shane he added pleadingly: “Give me something to 
dol” 

“My lines are all set,” said Shane with a shrug. 
“What do you propose?” 

“I can’t stand around doing nothing,” said Larry. 
“I’m going out to look for them!” 

“Oh, all right if you feel like that,” said Shane. 
He did not spare Larry, but he was a big enough man 
to feel friendly towards the young fellow. “Here, take 
my gun in case you stumble over them,” he added, 
grinning, “and this time watch you get a bead on the 
other fellow first, see? When you’ve tired yourself 
out, come back here.” 

Larry slipped the gun in his pocket, and ran out of 
the hotel. 

The spectacle of a wild-eyed young man rushing 
along the Boardwalk, created such visible excitement 
among the promenaders that Larry was quickly forced 
to quiet down. He scarcely knew where he was go¬ 
ing. It didn’t make much difference. Anything to 
keep moving. He pushed his way through the crowd, 
searching the faces, knowing in his heart that they 
would never be hanging around here waiting for him 
. . . But anything to keep moving! 

A roaring overhead caused all the people on the 
Boardwalk to turn their faces to the sky. It was the 
hydroplane that, for a generous fee, carried passen¬ 
gers for short flights up and down the sea-front. 
Larry had already seen it rise and descend at a point 
on the beach beside the Inlet. Sharpened as his fac- 


141 


Through the Air 

ulties were, it instantly struck him that here was a 
means of escape from the Island which had not oc¬ 
curred to Shane/ Shane was an old-timer; hydroplanes, 
probably, did not enter into his calculations. But 
Phillida and the Englishman would hear it, and their 
faculties were sharpened too. They would know that 
it was for hire. Expense was nothing to the English¬ 
man. Perhaps they were already at the Inlet waiting 
for it. 

The machine was bound towards its starting-point. 
Larry turned around and ran after it. He was more 
than a mile from the Inlet, and he quickly realised 
he could never make it on foot before the plane de¬ 
scended and rose again. At the first street leading 
away from the Boardwalk he ran down the incline. In 
a hundred yards or so he was lucky enough to pick up 
a standing taxicab. 

“Double fare to the Inlet if you get a move on,” 
he cried to the driver. 

But there his luck ended, for the engine balked, and 
precious moments were lost in starting. Getting under 
way at last, they flew down a quiet block, lined with 
the continuous porches of big wooden hotels. All the 
rocking-chairs stopped rocking, and curious heads 
stuck out over the rails. Turning into the main East 
and West thoroughfare they had to slow down for the 
traffic, while Larry twisted with impatience, and swore 
under his breath. 

“I could have made it quicker running!” he thought. 

They tried to slip across an intersecting street after 
the signal had been set against them, and they were 
stopped by the officer on duty. Larry’s driver was in 


142 Officer! 

awe of the whistle. To be sure, at the sight of Larry s 
badge, the officer released them, but more precious 
seconds had been lost. It seemed as if all the private 
motor cars, jitneys, and trucks were in a conspiracy 
to block them. To Larry, ages passed before they 
won clear of the centre of the town, and could let go 
through unfrequented streets. 

At the point where the Boardwalk curves around the 
end of the island, it is separated from the street by a 
foot-bridge some two hundred feet long, across a 
marshy place. The plane landed on the beach here, 
but the beach was hidden by the intervening Board¬ 
walk. As Larry jumped out and flung his driver a 
bill, all was quiet on the beach. As he ran across the 
foot-bridge he heard the roar of the engine recom¬ 
mence. 

He arrived at the rail of the Boardwalk in time to 
see the plane skimming the surface of the sea like a 
gigantic waterfowl. Over the edge of the fuselage he 
saw a little black hat side by side with a grey Fedora. 
There was a third head in addition to the pilot. 
Larry let out a great shout. 

All the watchers on the beach looked around 
startled, but those in the plane were deafened by the 
roar of the engine. Larry’s hand flew to his hip- 
pocket with the design of shooting his gun in the air 
—but he held his hand. Of what avail a pistol shot 
against the fusillade of the engine in their ears? The 
plane rose from the water. It was moving away at a 
hundred feet a second. He stood there gripping the 
rail for self-control, his face a wooden mask, while his 


143 


Through the Air 

heart swelled with rage. People came running to ask 
what was the matter. He roughly silenced them. 

As he expected, instead of turning on its usual 
course along the sea-front, the plane headed straight 
away in a northerly direction, obliquely across the 
wide bays and the sea marshes towards the mainland. 

It rose as it flew until it was a mere speck against the 
sky. Larry grimly watched it out of sight. There 
was no other plane available. 

He continued to stand there immovable. At first 
his mind was just a blank of rage and disappointment, 
his only instinct to conceal his feelings. Then little by 
little he began to stir inside. The pilot would have to 
return to his usual stand; very well, when he did re¬ 
turn, he, Larry, would force him to carry him after 
the fugitives. Perhaps after all they might not get 
too great a start. All depended on how far they could 
persuade the pilot to carry them. 

As patient as an image he watched the sky. 

In less than half an hour the plane hove into view 
again and Larry’s heart beat strongly. Not until that 
moment did he recollect Shane. He had thrown in, 
his lot with Shane, and he must therefore keep him in¬ 
formed. Very reluctantly Larry sought a telephone 
booth in a near-by pavilion, and sent word to Shane 
at the Donoughmore that the fugitives had escaped by 
hydroplane, and that he, Larry, was now starting after 
them in the same plane. He was not without a spice 
of malice in sending this message. Shane had been so 
sure of himself! 

When the pilot jumped out on the sand, Larry 


144 


Officer! 


peremptorily ordered the curious listeners to stand 
back. Flashing his shield on the pilot, he said 
grimly: “Those two you carried away from here were 
wanted.” 

The pilot spread out his hands. “How was I to 
know? They looked all right . . . There were 
three of them,” he added. 

“Where did you put them down?” 

“Fifteen miles up the shore at the edge of the bar¬ 
rens. He wanted me to make it Long Branch, but I 
hadn’t the gas.” 

“Fill up quick, and take me after them,” said Larry 
curtly. 

The man hesitated. “Who’s to pay me?” he mut¬ 
tered. 

“The City of New York,” said Larry. 

Gasoline was at hand in tins. With an acquiescent 
shrug, the pilot ordered his tank filled. Larry climbed 
into the seat that was pointed out to him, and the 
pilot seated himself in front. An order was given, 
on the beach the mechanic twirled the propeller, and 
the roaring of the engine beat about Larry’s ears. 
They began to move. 

It was Larry’s first flight. At first they went tear¬ 
ing through the water like some incredible speed boat. 
Then, without any perceptible change of motion, sud¬ 
denly the noise of the water ceased, and looking over 
the edge of the car Larry saw with astonishment that 
the ocean was dropping away beneath them. An ex¬ 
traordinary sensation, the solid earth slipping down 
sideways; Larry was afflicted with a slight nausea. 


145 


Through the Air 

As they quickly rose, the earth seemed to shrink, 
and a wider and wider expanse of waterway and marsh 
was revealed. Looking back, the dizzy towers of the 
sea-front had assumed the proportions of a toy town. 
Higher still, and the earth seemed to have become con¬ 
cave, the edges rising up all around. When they 
found their flying level it remained like a great map 
spread beneath them, unrolling with a motion as im¬ 
perceptible as that of the hands of a clock. It was 
only when you looked away for a while, and looked 
back, that you could see it had changed. 

The wind tore at the roots of Larry’s hair, induc¬ 
ing a feeling of wild exhilaration. But it struck a 
chill to his bones, too. There was a great coat ly¬ 
ing on the seat beside him. He cautiously wriggled 
into it, fearing that the slightest disturbance of the 
equilibrium might upset the craft. The pilot, glancing 
over his shoulder, grinned derisively at Larry. He 
was master up here; he condescended to his passenger. 
They could not speak to each other. 

It was all over in a few minutes. Seeing the pilot 
begin to manipulate his levers again, Larry looked 
over the edge. The supposedly flat earth was cocked 
up in the queerest fashion, and drunkenly eddying 
around. It brought back his nausea. Then he realised 
that they were only flying in circles, preparatory to 
alighting. The character of the picture had not 
changed; still the silver waterways, the green marshes, 
and the darker green of oak scrub where the dry land 
began. As it flew up to meet them Larry distinguished 
a toy roof amidst the waste, and had a glimpse of a 


146 Officer! 

black insect that was probably human. The pilot shut 
off his power, and they presently struck the water with 
a long sliding splash, sending out sheets of spray, like 
a three-hundred-horse-power swan alighting. 

When Larry got his sight adjusted to an even keel 
once more, the scene that met them offered a violent 
contrast to the scene they had left on earth a few 
minutes before. Instead of hotels, motor-cars, crowds 
of people, here was a great solitude. The single man¬ 
made building on the shore, and the lonely figure 
standing in front of it, only gave the emptiness an 
additional point. On the one hand the flat marshes 
seemed to disappear over the curve of the earth; on 
the other, interminable sand dunes covered with scrub 
oak. The little weatherbeaten house displayed a dim 
sign across the front: “Bayhead Hotel. Sportsmen 
Accommodated.” It had a rundown and illicit look. 
With its tumbledown outbuildings clustering around it, 
it seemed to be making a last stand for man against 
the crowding, stunted trees. 

There was a rickety warf running out from the land, 
and the pilot paddled his giant water-spider alongside 
it. Larry climbed out. The solitary figure came 
down to meet him. He was quite in character with 
his house, a lanky, shambling roustabout, with a loose, 
good-natured grin. 

“H’ are yeh?” said he. “Didn’t expect you back so 
soon. This is sholy an exciting day!” 

Larry had no time for amenities. “The man and 
woman who landed here; where are they?” he de¬ 
manded. 

“Two men and a woman,” the other amended. 


Through the Air 147 

“Sho!” his eye brightened as he took in the fascinat¬ 
ing possibilities. “Fly customers, maybe?” 

“Where are they?” repeated Larry. 

The Jersey cracker was not to be hurried. “I says 
to me son there’s something fishy about them three, I 
says. But he says, ‘Well, they’ve been dumped on us 
here; we gotta dump ’em somewheres else,’ he says. 
We never thought anybody would come after them 
here. He’s took ’em inland in his car.” 

Larry swore. “Is there another car here?” he de¬ 
manded. 

The shore man seemed to regard this as a joke. 
He chuckled silently. “ ’Taint much of a country for 
automobiles, Mister. We does most of our visitin’ by 
water, we does. The car is just a play-toy like, of my 
son’s. ’Taint much of a car let alone . . .” 

Larry cut him short. “Where’s the nearest car? 

“Ten mile in.” 

“Have you got a horse?” 

“What would I feed a horse on here?” 

Larry perceived in this man a policeman’s natural 
enemy. He flashed his badge. “New York City po¬ 
lice,” he said harshly. “If you try to put anything 
over on me it will go hard with you.” 

The other continued to smile. He had the imper¬ 
turbable assurance of a man at the bottom of the 
scale; nothing to lose. “Look around! Look 
around!” he said amiably. “You’ll find few enough 
hiding-places in this shebang.” 

Larry scribbled his address on a piece of paper, and 
handed it to the pilot. “Send your bill, and 111 see 
that it is paid,” he said. 


148 Officer! 

The man pocketed the slip somewhat dubiously. 
They left him. 

The old shore man did not in the least resent 
Larry’s suspicious manner. “They on’y been gone ten 
minutes,” he volunteered good-naturedly. “My son 
had tire trouble. He’s always got tire trouble. It’s 
chronic.” 

“Might as well be ten hours if I’ve got to follow on 
foot,” muttered Larry. 

“Well, I dunno. My son often comes home on foot. 
They’re sure to get stuck in the sand once or twice.” 

It was Larry’s intention to search the premises be¬ 
fore starting after the fugitives, but on his way up 
from the shore he changed his mind. For the story 
of what had happened was written in the loose sand, 
and it bore out the shore man’s words. There were 
the trim, small tracks of Phillida’s shoes; there was 
the shed with open doors, out of which the car had 
been backed. Phillida’s tracks ended at the spot 
where she got into it. The prints of the tires then 
led away through the trees, and they bore that un¬ 
mistakable fresh look, which loose sand will not re¬ 
tain more than a few minutes. 

“Where was your son going to take them?” he 
asked. 

“To the railway, fifteen miles back.” 

“How far is it to a good road?” 

“Acrost the barrens. Nine miles.” 

With a curt nod, Larry turned his face towards the 
trees. 

But the other stepped out smartly to keep up with 
him. His little eyes glittered with inquisitiveness. 


Through the Air 149 

“A pretty bad gang, I expec’,” he said ingratiatingly. 
“What they wanted for?” 

“I can’t stop to tell you that,” said Larry. 

“I’ll come along with you a piece.” 

“I’m not going to talk about the case.” 

The shore man shrugged philosophically, and fell 
back. Suddenly recollecting that the pilot was a pos¬ 
sible source of information, he hastened back to the 
water’s edge. 

The instant Larry entered among the trees, he 
seemed to lose all touch with the inhabited world. It 
was a strange, desert sort of place that supported no 
animal life. The little trees sprung from the sandy 
soil as thickly as hair. The silence was complete; not 
even the cheep of a bird disturbed it. For a minute 
or two the roaring of the sea-plane filled the air; then 
it faded away, and the silence resumed its sway. It 
was heavy going underfoot. In places where the car 
had stuck at one time or another, an effort had been 
made to improve the track by throwing sods in it, but 
one spot was about as bad as another. The sand 
dragged at Larry’s feet in a pertinacious way very 
trying to the patience of a walker. 

Not a breath of air stirred among the little trees, 
and having been half frozen in the air, Larry was now 
grilled on the burning sand which sent up as much heat 
as the sun sent down. The clothes stuck to his prick¬ 
ling skin. He was one mass of uncomfortable sensa¬ 
tion. To make matters worse a sort of little stinging 
fly buzzed around his neck looking for a place to land. 
No amount of slapping discouraged it. It was deter¬ 
mined to accompany him the whole way. At last with 


150 


Officer! 

a devilish satisfaction he contrived to kill it—but not 
before it had stung him. Another fly of the same 
species took its place. 

Ten miles of this to cover, and certain disappoint¬ 
ment waiting him at the end! It was well for Larry 
that his immediate discomfort was too great to per¬ 
mit him to look ahead very much. A black, mad rage 
lay that way. Phillida fleeing to safety with the 
crooked, shifty-eyed Englishman. A man almost 
middle-aged. Walked into her room without so much 
as by your leave as if he owned her! They were al¬ 
most surely safe by now—and laughing at him! Yet 
it never occurred to Larry to give up the chase. He 
plodded on with his head down. 

The track twisted among the trees this way and 
that in a foolish way, as if it had been made in the 
first place by a straying horse, and no man had ever 
had the energy to straighten it since. It continually 
climbed little inounds, and crossed shallow gullies. 
Larry could never see far along it either before or 
behind, and he quickly lost all sense of the distance 
he had covered. There was nothing to mark the way. 
He might as well have been walking in a void. Ten 
miles of it loomed ahead like infinity. 

As a matter of fact he had not been walking half an 
hour when the heavy silence was startlingly broken by 
the sound quite close to, of a sharp hammering on 
metal. Larry’s senses sprang into alertness, and gone 
was all discomfort of the flesh. The nature of the 
sound was unmistakable. Somebody was changing a 
tire. 

He broke into a run, seeking to pierce the screen of 


151 


Through the Air 

thickly springing stems that concealed all. The loose 
sand swallowed the sound of his steps. Presently he 
fixed the sound on the other side of a rise in the road. 
Instead of showing himself over it, he struck into the 
trees, and made his way around under cover. Noise¬ 
lessly stealing back towards the road, he dimly per¬ 
ceived stationary objects there. Letting himself down 
he crawled the last yard or two, and finally with in¬ 
finite care parted the leaves and looked out. 

A few yards ahead he saw the car standing in the 
track, one of its wheels jacked up. A roughly clad 
lad was kneeling on the ground beside the rim, and a 
man was bending over him in the attitude of one of¬ 
fering to help or urging the lad to hasten. This man 
had his back to Larry. Nearer Larry, and facing him, 
Mr. Felix and Phillida stood side by side in the road. 
The man had his gun in his hand. They were watch¬ 
ing the road, both on the qui vive. Naturally they 
had taken warning from the sound of the returning 
plane. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE DECREPIT CAR 

T ARRY, concealed behind the leaves, deliberated 
upon what to do. Of the three men in the road 
before him, the first had his gun in his hand and the 
second was no doubt armed also. The third, that is to 
say the country lad, was probably not armed, and it 
was possible he might remain neutral. But besides the 
men there was the girl. Larry was far from despising 
the aid that a determined woman could lend his ad¬ 
versaries. He hesitated. It was heavy odds. What 
a bitter, bitter pain it caused him to see Phillida stand¬ 
ing side by side with another man making common 
cause against him, Larry! 

But presently the lad half raised the detachable rim 
as if the repair was completed. The move spurred 
Larry into action. They would be going on directly. 
It was unthinkable that he should let them go without 
striking a blow. Better be shot than that. The only 
possible course for him was the boldest one. Larry 
pulled his gun out of his pocket, and standing up, 
stepped out into plain view. 

The Englishman’s gun went up automatically. With 
a cry Phillida seized his arm and dragged it down. 
The gun was discharged. The bullet ploughed up a 
little cascade of sand half way between him and Larry. 
The young man looked death in the face without flinch- 
152 


The Decrepit Car 153 

ing. A thrill of the sweetest joy went through him. 
After all, his life meant something to Phillida. 

“Get back! Get back!” Phillida cried to Larry. 
“He’ll kill you!” 

The Englishman was struggling with her. He tore 
his pistol arm free. But the second man, springing up, 
flung his arms around him. “Don’t shoot! Don’t 
shoot, sir!” he gasped. “You’ll ruin us all. He’s 
only one. We can handle him.” 

When he saw this man’s face Larry was not sur¬ 
prised to recognise the mysterious Mr. Glanville who 
had come to Phillida’s assistance in the magistrate’s 
court. 

Mr. Felix’s involuntary panic quickly subsided. 
“You’re right,” he said with a disagreeable smile. “No 
need to shoot him.” 

The other man released his arms. Mr. Felix kept 
his gun in his hand. 

“You are my prisoners,” said Larry. 

The two men laughed derisively. Phillida did not 
laugh, but only watched Larry with inscrutable eyes. 
As for the country lad, at the sound of the shot, he had 
dived headlong into cover, and was now nowhere to be 
seen. 

“What are you going to do with us?” asked Mr. 
Felix mockingly. 

“Lock you up!” said Larry, unabashed. 

Renewed laughter. 

“First catch your chickens,” said Mr. Felix. “Or 
in other words, get us out of the woods.” He looked 
about him. “Where’s that damn boy? . . . Come 
out!” he called. “There’s no danger!” 


154 Officer! 

A paper-white face, none too clean, showed itself 
among the leaves. “I won’t go near the car unless 
they puts away their guns,” the boy stammered. 

With a laugh, and a great parade of indifference, 
Mr. Felix dropped his gun in his pocket. Larry put 
away his weapon also. The boy crawled out into the 
road, half-stupefied with terror. 

“Get the car going,” commanded Mr. Felix. 

“Wait!” said Larry. He showed his badge. “Do 
you know what that is?” 

The boy nodded miserably. 

“If you take the part of these people against the 
police you’ll go to jail with the rest of them.” 

He stared at Larry witlessly. The two men, who 
had drawn close together, looked on contemptuously. 
Phillida was standing apart from them, nearer Larry. 

“You understand me?” said Larry harshly. 

“Well . . . well, what do you want me to do?” 
blubbered the boy. 

“Get the car going,” said Larry. “But take your 
orders from me.” 

With many a backward look of terror, the lad fitted 
his rim over the wheel, and screwed the nuts home. 
He let the axle down, and stowed away his jack in the 
tonneau. Larry did not need to be told that the next 
crisis was due when the engine started. The two men 
had ostentatiously lighted cigarettes. A simpleton 
might have guessed from their sidelong looks what 
was passing in their minds. 

The lad cranked his engine, and after the expendi¬ 
ture of a good deal of muscular persuasion it conde¬ 
scended to start. Larry, bethinking himself of the ad- 


155 


The Decrepit Car 

vantage that lies in making the first move, put a hand 
on the gun in his pocket, and taking a stride forward, 
gripped Phillida’s shoulder, and drew her away a lit¬ 
tle. The girl gave him an extraordinary glance, not 
in the least afraid. She made no attempt to resist. 

Mr. Felix scowled, and his hand likewise went to 
his pocket. 

Phillida’s voice spoke up clearly. “Let him take me. 
It’s the best way. You two go on.” 

Larry’s astonished eyes flew to her face. What did 
this mean? There was no sign of weakening in 
her. 

“Can I trust you to keep your mouth shut?” said 
Mr. Felix, with his scowl. 

“I have kept it shut so far,” Phillida said coolly. 

The man hung in a state of indecision, biting his 
fingers. 

Phillida turned to Larry. “If I go with you freely, 
will you let them go their way?” 

A surge of joy pressed up in Larry’s breast. To 
part her from that Englishman. “Sure!” he cried. 
It was involuntary. But immediately afterwards he 
recollected his duty. “No, I won’t,” he said doggedly. 
“He’s wanted, too.” 

“You can’t take all three of us in,” she said with an 
exasperated air. 

“I’ll make a stab at it,” said Larry. 

“Oh, you fool!” she cried, losing her temper. “This 
is nothing but your schoolboy vanity! They re in 
earnest, I tell you! They’ll kill you sooner than let 
you take them. I don’t want your blood on my con¬ 
science. Listen to reason, can’t you? Let them go 


156 Officer! 

and drag me back in triumph. That ought to satisfy 
you!” 

This affected Larry in precisely the opposite way 
to that she wished. He was conscious of only one 
thing; she wanted to get the Englishman off, she was 
willing to sacrifice herself for the Englishman. It 
lighted the fires of jealousy again, and drove him mad 
with stubbornness. 

“I’nr damned if I will,” he said. ‘‘I’ll take you all 
in.” 

Phillida was for continuing the argument, but Mr. 
Felix silenced her. “Come on, come on,” he said. 
“We can’t stop here in the woods arguing it. There’s 
only one way out for all of us, and that’s the car.” 

Thus he admitted Larry’s right to share the car. 
But Larry knew well that they had not given in. The 
final showdown was simply postponed to a moment 
that was to be chosen by themselves. 

Keeping his hand on Phillida’s shoulder, Larry led 
her to the car on the side opposite to that where the 
two men were standing. She got in, and seated her¬ 
self in the middle of the tonneau; and Larry follow¬ 
ing, took the corner seat where he could command 
them all with his gun. For the moment, the advan¬ 
tage was with him. The two Englishmen, with shrugs 
of pretended indifference, climbed aboard, Mr. Felix 
seating himself beside Phillida, Glanville next to the 
lad who drove. They started on through the stunted 
forest. 

Phillida sat between the two men with her hands 
lying calmly in her lap. Such fine, still, capable hands! 
Her face was a composed blank, but her eyes missed 


157 


The Decrepit Car 

nothing of what passed. Occasionally they flashed in 
Larry’s face, and the young man had the uneasy feel¬ 
ing that he was being read through and through, while 
he could read nothing in return. What possible ex¬ 
planation of her could there be, maddeningly desirable 
as she was? She treated him with the utmost scorn, 
yet by an involuntary movement, she had saved his 
life. Was there nothing more in it than a woman’s 
natural horror of bloodshed? On the other hand, 
while she fought on the side of the Englishman, there 
was something in her eye that suggested she despised 
him too. 

Meanwhile the two men were grinning derisively at 
Larry with the design of destroying his morale. But 
it had not that effect. He did not mind them. They 
were just men like himself. Moreover he suspected 
that they were secretly ill at ease. In Mr. Felix par¬ 
ticularly there was a sort of frantic, unmanly terror 
that had flared up more than once in Larry’s sight. 
Larry held his gun in his hand. He had this impor¬ 
tant advantage over the other two men; there was no 
reason in the world why he should not shoot either 
or both of them, if they interfered with him. 

It soon became evident to him how it was he had 
been able to overtake them. In order to get through 
the sand, they had to run nearly the whole time on 
first gear. After a few hundred yards of this the water 
in the radiator would begin to boil, and they must needs 
stop awhile to let it cool. The car was in an advanced 
state of decrepitude, and Larry, registering its various 
complaints with a practised ear, was surprised that it 
ran at all. Mr. Felix cursed it fervently. 


158 Officer! 

They had not gone far when the lad who was driv¬ 
ing, happened to glance over his shoulder. He saw 
the naked pistol in Larry’s hand, and his face went 
livid with terror. The steering-wheel wabbled in his 
nerveless hands. 

“Buck up!” the man beside him said, with a laugh. 
“The gun’s not for you, but for us!” 

However, the lad could not control his shaking. 
The car lurched out of the track, and stalled against a 
hummock. The boy burst into tears. 

“I want to go home!” he wailed. 

Mr. Felix cursed him in his beautifully modulated 
voice. 

Glanville spoke up: “I’ll drive.” 

They put the boy in the back seat. Here he could 
keep his eye on Larry’s gun, and his excessive terror 
moderated. With both Englishmen in front of him 
now, Larry felt safer. Neither could very well make 
a hostile move without giving him warning. 

Mr. Felix rode sitting sideways in front. Except 
for the one or two occasions when he had been startled 
out of it, the man had a devilish aplomb. By turns 
he studied Larry and Phillida with his cold and insolent 
stare. It was suggested to Larry that Phillida was 
just as much of a puzzle to the Englishman as she was 
to himself, and this afforded him some satisfaction. 
Certainly Mr. Felix’s glances at Phillida were anything 
but loverlike. But what was the relationship between 
them then? 

Larry gave him stare for stare. It was the first 
opportunity he had had to examine his man at his lei¬ 
sure. The light grey eyes did not give much away. 


159 


The Decrepit Car 

There was a cold haughtiness of mien in Mr. Felix that 
indicated he had been accustomed to subservience all 
his life. But if he really was a man of place and power, 
thought Larry, what was there for him to be afraid 
of? Afraid he certainly was. Now Glanville who had 
less on his mind, could joke about the situation. Glan¬ 
ville, of course, was a sort of servant or employe to 
Mr. Felix. A servant who knew enough of his mas¬ 
ter’s secrets to feel pretty independent of him, Larry 
judged. 

Mr. Felix said coolly to Phillida, as if Larry had 
not been there at all: “Is this the fellow who first ar¬ 
rested you in New York?” 

“Yes,” she said. 

He favoured Larry with a hard stare. “What is 
there in it for you, my man?” he said. “Promotion 
maybe?” 

“I’m not your man,” said Larry. 

“I beg your pardon. . . . But that only means a 
small increase of pay, I assume. Wouldn’t you rather 
have it in a lump sum down?” 

Larry made no answer. 

“How much will you take to get out and walk? 
said Mr. Felix boldly. “No blame could possibly at¬ 
tach to you.” 

“I’ll see you damned first,” said Larry as coolly as 

he. 

Mr. Felix shrugged indifferently, and faced front. 

All this time as they were ploughing their slow way 
through the sand, Larry was sitting beside Phillida in 
the way he had dreamed of. But he was scarcely con¬ 
scious of her nearness now. The situation was too 


160 Officer! 

highly charged with danger for him to have any room 
for the softer feelings. All his faculties were concen¬ 
trated on the two men in front. He knew very well 
that they had no intention of driving meekly up to a 
police station door. Watching them, it never occurred 
to him to suspect danger from alongside. 

The hand which grasped the pistol was lying on his 
thigh. Suddenly Phillida flung the weight of her body 
on his hand and arm, and hung on desperately. Larry 
struggled with all his might, but she had him at a cruel 
disadvantage. He could not shoot her f though his own 
life depended on it. 

“Help me! Help me!” she gasped. “Seize him!” 

The car stopped, and the two men in front came 
tumbling over the back of the seat. There was a mad, 
confused struggle within the narrow confines of the 
tonneau. They got Larry down on the floor, but they 
could not hold him there. He reared up with the two 
men clinging to him; they fell against one of the doors, 
which burst out, precipitating them all into the road. 
In the road Larry felt the added weight of the boy 
upon him. The revolver was wrenched out of his 
hand. 

“A rope! A rope!” cried Glanville. 

A rope was produced from somewhere. That must 
have been the boy. The rope fired Larry to an in¬ 
creased effort. Let his bones crack and his muscles 
be torn from them, he would not submit to the rope. 
They rolled and strained and panted in the sand. They 
could keep him down, but there were not men enough 
to tie him. 

Finally Mr. Felix cried: “Let him have it!” 


161 


The Decrepit Car 

Larry heard the crack on his skull that he did not 
feel. He passed out. When he came back to his 
senses his wrists and ankles were fast. 

But only a moment or two had passed. When he 
opened his eyes, it was to see Phillida’s great, dark 
eyes fixed upon him. She swiftly turned her head, but 
not before he had caught the grief and compassion 
with which they were filled. Her remorse, if it was 
remorse, only reminded him of the injury he had re¬ 
ceived at her hands. A frightful pang of rage and 
pain constricted his breast. His eyes would have 
scorched her had she seen them. I loved you, they said, 
and you gave me up to them! In the face of the grin¬ 
ning men he was forced to be silent. Even the chicken- 
livered lad felt safe in grinning at Larry now. Larry’s 
eyes blazed from one to another, and in silence he 
wrestled with the torments of rage and jealousy and 
defeat. 

“That was well done, my girl,” said Mr. Felix to 
Phillida. 

“It was the only thing,” she said in an indifferent 
tone. 

The men moved towards the car. “Come on,” said 
Mr. Felix. 

“What are you going to do with him?” asked 
Phillida sharply. 

“Why, leave him here, of course,” said Mr. Felix, 
astonished by the question. 

“He’d starve to death here,” she said indignantly. 
“If the flies and mosquitoes didn’t sting him to death 
first.” 

(Just like a woman! thought Larry bitterly. De- 


162 Officer! 

liver a man up to murder, and then try to make out 
she can’t stand it!) 

“Oh, the boy can let him loose when he comes back,” 
said Mr. Felix carelessly. 

“The boy is frightened to death of him. He 
wouldn’t go near him.” 

Mr. Felix shrugged. “He’ll have to take his chance, 
then. Come on. The afternoon’s getting on.” 

Larry, lying trussed on the sand, rolled on his side 
to get a better view of Phillida’s face. Its expression 
was cold and withdrawn again. But she said with un¬ 
mistakable firmness: “If you leave him, you leave me.” 

Larry gazed at her in astonishment. 

Mr. Felix, impressed by her firmness, started to ex¬ 
postulate with her in a conciliatory tone, under which 
he sought to conceal his exasperation. Glanville came 
up and added his voice to that of his master. But 
Phillida stood her ground with a woman’s invincible 
obstinacy. 

“If you leave him, you leave me.” 

Mr. Felix’s exasperation broke out at last. “By 
Heaven!” he cried, “I’m not going to waste any more 
time in arguing with you. You make me repent of my 
own moderation. A common policeman! If he insists 
on sticking his nose into what does not concern him let 
him take the consequences. Another word and I’ll give 
him his quietus, and stick his clay where it will never 
be found!” 

“I am not talking,” said Phillida coolly. 

“I’ve had enough of this!” cried Mr. Felix, livid 
with rage. He made a move to draw his gun. 

Phillida never budged. “That is an empty threat,” 


The Decrepit Car 163 

she said. “You know very well that if you injured him, 
I should immediately denounce you.” 

“Denounce me ! Denounce me!” cried the English¬ 
man. “And who are you I should like to know? What 
do I owe you? What’s to prevent me sending you 
after him? That’s what I ought to do. You’re the 
original cause of the trouble. You’re the wasp who 
stung me first!” 

“It was your own meanness and cowardice that orig¬ 
inally caused the trouble,” said Phillida. “If you’re 
paying for it now ten times over, that’s not my fault.” 

“By God! . . . By God! . . stuttered Mr. Felix, 
becoming speechless with anger. 

Glanville was in a panic now lest dangerous secrets 
be revealed. His eyes darted terrified glances in Lar¬ 
ry’s direction. “Miss . . . Miss,” he said implor¬ 
ingly, “don’t anger him, I beg of you! No good can 
come of it!” 

But Phillida’s chin went a notch higher. “Why 
shouldn’t he be angered as well as anybody else?” she 
said clearly. “It would do him good if he heard the 
truth oftener.” 

“I’ll leave them both here!” cried Mr. Felix, beside 
himself. 

Glanville clung to his pistol arm. “My Lord! My 
Lord!” he whispered softly and imploringly. 

But Larry heard it, and grimly put it away for future 
use. 

“You heard what she said,” stuttered Mr. Felix. 
“Do you think I’ll . . 

“She was right!” cried Glanville, suddenly raising 
his voice. “It is all your own fault 1” 


164 Officer! 

The noble Englishman was so astonished to hear 
this from his own creature that he ceased to struggle, 
and simply stared with his eyebrows running up into 
two haughty peaks. But Glanville was not impressed 
by it. He possessed himself of the revolver. 

“You will thank me for this some day,” he said 
quietly. 

Mr. Felix turned his back on them all, and stood 
pulling at his moustache. And so it appeared that 
Phillida’s firmness had won the day. 

Presently Mr. Felix turned around, and said sulkily: 
“What the devil was the use of disarming him and 
tying him up if you insist on carrying him with us?” 

“We can leave him in some spot where he’ll be dis¬ 
covered,” said Phillida. 

The upshot of it all was that Larry was picked up 
and dropped into the same corner of the tonneau that 
he had occupied before. They started again. Phil¬ 
lida still rode beside him, but she sat a little forward, 
so that he was unable to see into her face. 

That strange quarrel afforded Larry plenty of mat¬ 
ter for reflection. Unfortunately it did not throw any 
light on the facts of the case, but rendered them more 
inexplicable than ever. None of the cases that Larry 
had ever heard of had any bearing here. It was all 
topsy-turvey. Twice the Englishman had rescued Phil¬ 
lida from the law, but he hated her; and she despised 
him. At least it seemed that way. Larry rejoiced in 
their quarrel until the discomforting thought came to 
him that there are no quarrels so bitter as those be¬ 
tween lovers, or former lovers. They knew so much 
about each other there must have been something be- 


The Decrepit Car 165 

tween them! And so in the end he was no farther for¬ 
ward than he had been in the beginning. 

Meanwhile he bent all his energies to the single end 
of freeing his hands. They had been tied behind him, 
so they were now out of sight. Neither of the two 
Englishmen was an adept with the rope, he judged. 
Larry himself knew something about tying a man up, 
and he guessed from the feel of his bonds that the 
case was not hopeless. Secretly twisting and working 
his hands behind him, the rope yielded them more 
and more play. 

Finally they came to the edge of the little wood. 
Flat, cultivated fields lay before them. Their way was 
stopped by a gate. On the other side, the track they 
were upon ran along the edge of the first field, then 
emerged through another gate on to a country road. 
At some distance along the road the houses of the first 
scattered village were visible. 

Before they went through the first gate another ar¬ 
gument started. 

“We’ll drop him here,” said Mr. Felix. 

“This is no better than the other place,” said Phil- 
lida. “We don’t know that anybody ever comes here.” 

Her first victory had given her a certain ascendency, 
and Mr. Felix was obliged to submit again. The two 
men gagged Larry with a handkerchief, and, dropping 
him in the bottom of the car, covered him with a dust 
cloth. Larry contrived to conceal from them the fact 
that his hands were almost free. 

Turning into the road, which was the merest be¬ 
ginning of a road, they bumped and rattled along at a 
slightly better rate of speed. In order to make them- 


166 Officer! 

selves heard above the many noises of the car, the 
others had to raise their voices, and from time to time 
Larry caught snatches of their talk. Sometimes they 
seemed to forget that bound, gagged, and out of sight 
as he was, he still had his ears. 

After they had passed through the village—Larry 
was following the course by the various references they 
made to it, they began to dispute where they should 
drop him. Various suggestions were made, but none 
upon which Mr. Felix and Phillida could agree. Ap¬ 
parently the country was flat and open on either side 
of the road, with very little cover. 

“Why not drop him behind the bushes?” suggested 
Phillida. 

“Yes, and have him get to his feet and exhibit him¬ 
self to the first person who passes,” snarled Mr. Felix. 

“Well, what do you propose?” she asked. 

“We’re saddled with him now,” he said bitterly. “I 
ought to have had my way about it.” 

Thus it went until at last the lad (who was driving 
again) said: “Yonder’s the town and the railway.” 

“Slow up then,” cried Glanville. “We can’t carry 
him into the town. We’ll have to go back.” 

The car stopped. 

“What’s the use of going back?” said Mr. Felix 
morosely. “We haven’t passed any places.” 

“Do you know anything about the trains?” Glan¬ 
ville asked the boy. 

“Up train at six eleven,” was the reply. 

Here they evidently consulted their watches. 
“Twenty minutes!” exclaimed Mr. Felix. “We’ve got 
to get that!” 


167 


The Decrepit Car 

Phillida spoke. “That barn is not near any house. 
Why not lay him down behind it? In time he can 
make his way to the road, but we’ll be gone.” 

Mr. Felix agreed, because there was nothing else for 
it. 

The car started again and, Larry judged, presently 
turned into a side lane. It bumped along for a hun¬ 
dred yards or so, and stopped. The cover was pulled 
off him, and he was roughly and hastily pulled out by 
the heels, picked up, carried a short distance and 
dropped in sweet-smelling clover, close under the high 
weathered wall of a barn. His hands were now free, 
but he held them within the rope in such a way that 
it was not apparent. They were in too much of a 
hurry to give him a close inspection. He struggled a 
little, and groaned under his gag to give verisimilitude 
to his apparent helplessness. They dropped him and 
were instantly gone. 

He lay until he heard the car turn around and make 
its way out of the lane. When it started down the 
road, rattling and barking at the greatest speed of 
which it was capable, he sprang up. They had taken 
his gun, but had not searched him. He had a pocket- 
knife. It was but the work of a moment to pull off the 
gag, and cut the ropes that bound his ankles. In a flash 
he got the lie of the land: barn, lane, road, town and 
railway line. He ran to the road bent over double. 
But there was a bend in the road, and they were al¬ 
ready out of sight. He ran down the road at the top 
of his speed; the distant whistle of a train acted as a 
spur. 

The little town lay about half a mile in front of him, 


168 Officer! 

half hidden amongst trees. He could not distinguish 
the railway station, but he could see the line approach¬ 
ing the town on one side, and leaving it on the other. 
Presently in the distance a long plume of steam de¬ 
noted the approaching train. The road he was on was 
a little used one; there was no one in sight upon it; no 
possibility of help. For a moment his heart failed him. 
He felt he would never make it. But he repudiated 
the thought of failure. Digging his toes in, he con¬ 
trived to let out a little more. 

He saw the train. It disappeared among the trees, 
and presumably stopped at the station. Everything 
depended on the duration of its stop. The station was 
still out of sight around the bend; there was no way 
in which he could signal. He gained the village; he 
ran around the bend, and saw the train standing a cou¬ 
ple of hundred yards ahead. Only the last car was 
visible athwart the crossing. Larry shouted, but he 
had not breath enough to make himself heard far. He 
covered half the distance. The train began to move. 

He cut obliquely across the station yard. The bat¬ 
tered car was standing there. Its owner, leaning 
against it, stared at the flying Larry with eyes that 
protruded from his head. Larry gained the track on 
the other side of the station. The rear platform of 
the moving train was perhaps a hundred feet from him. 
But it was slowly gaining headway. At first he over¬ 
hauled it, but before he had quite made the distance, 
train and man were on equal terms, and before he could 
lay hand on the rear rail the train began to draw away. 
But Larry would not be beaten. He had one more 
magnificent spurt in him. His legs devoured the last 


169 


The Decrepit Car 

few yards. He caught the rail, and swung himself 
aboard the platform, sinking to his knees with bursting 
heart. 

Before he could gain his feet, he saw a figure roll¬ 
ing down the embankment on the other side, then a 
second figure. Mr. Felix and Glanville had seen him 
coming, and had jumped from up ahead. Glancing in¬ 
side the car, Larry saw Phillida, and made a quick de¬ 
cision. If they separated, she was his mark. He 
made no move to follow the men, but pulled the signal 
cord. He heard the shrill air whistle in the engine cab, 
and the brakes went on. 

On the side from which the men had jumped, a high¬ 
way paralleled the railway line. The two quickly 
gained their feet, and leaped the fence to the road. 
A motorist bound in the opposite direction to the train, 
having seen them jump, slowed up as he approached, 
no doubt out of curiosity. He must have regretted it 
quickly, for the two of them leaped on the running- 
board of his car. Felix whipped out the ever-ready 
gun, and put it to his head. The car sprang ahead. 
All this Larry could see from the rear platform of 
the slowing train. The train stopped, but the two men 
were gone. Larry let them go with a shrug. He had 
done his best. 

The conductor came running through the train. By 
this time Larry was at Phillida’s side, and had a hand 
on her shoulder. The strange girl was smiling in a 
secret sort of way. To the conductor Larry showed 
his badge. 

“This is my prisoner,” he said. “The other two got 
away. I’ll take this one, and you can go on.” 


170 


Officer! 

Phillida made no objection. In fact she said noth¬ 
ing. She looked right through the gaping passengers. 

Larry and Phillida dropped off the rear platform, 
and the train proceeded. The two started back along 
the track towards the station. Larry still felt a little 
shaky as a result of his heart-bursting run, but he had 
full command of his faculties. He looked sideways at 
his pretty companion with a great, grim satisfaction. 
What a queer, deep joy there was in capturing her! 
Strange, strange girl! What would be going on in¬ 
side that graceful head of hers now? 

She presently showed him. “Well, here we are!” 
she said. “What a lot of trouble you would have 
saved yourself if you had taken me in the first place 
to-day as I suggested, and let them go. But men never 
will listen to sense.” 

“It’s not quite the same thing,” said Larry. “It’s 
true they got away, but I didn’t let them go. I did 
my best.” 

She gave him a veiled look that he did not under¬ 
stand at all. “You’re a great nuisance, but you are 
rather splendid,” she remarked off-hand. 

Larry supposed that she was still making fun of him. 
“Ahh!” he said, scowling blackly. 

When they got back to the station, the boy was gone 
in his decrepit car, of course. Heavens knows where 
the miserable lad had flown to in his panic. Larry 
was not bothering about him. From the telegraph of¬ 
fice he sent messages in several directions, describing 
the fugitives and the car they had commandeered (me¬ 
dium-size grey touring car, driven by a man with a 
grey beard) and asking that they be held. 


171 


The Decrepit Car 

As he was completing this, a great, high-powered 
car rolled up outside the station, and Shane and Klein 
jumped out. The face of the latter offered a study 
when he saw the girl in Larry’s custody. Shane had 
his features under better control. Mutual explana¬ 
tions were hastily made. 

Said Shane: “I talked to the pilot when he came 
back. It was no use my planing after you if there was 
no other car at this end. So I got a car, and came all 
the way round the Bay by road. Bad going.” 

Shane announced his intention of going on after the 
two men. “Willyou come?” he asked Larry, including 
Phillida in his glance. 

“No, thanks,” said Larry dryly. “You’re welcome 
to the men if you can catch them. I’ll take my prisoner 
back to New York by the first train.” 

Shane clapped him on the back with the greatest 
good will. “That’s all right, young fellow! You’ve 
earned it! You’re a full-fledged member of the Union 
now. Look me up some time.” 

Larry began to wonder if he had not misjudged the 
wise old fox. 

They went off in their car. 

Larry looked at Phillida comfortably. His prisoner! 
All his bitterness had flown away. How finely she 
took defeat! Still that calm and even humorous look; 
no hatefulness or meanness to destroy the image of 
hernhat he had built up. A wonderful girl! His 
breast was secretly reassured. With a look like that 
she must be on the square! 

“We’ve got plenty of time,” he said cheerfully. 
“Come on, let’s eat.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


TETE-A-TETE 

T HE place where Larry and Phillida waited for 
the train was something more than a village, and 
not quite a town. It supported three hotels. Two of 
them were in the ordinary country style, unchanged in 
many years, solid places no doubt, but uninviting. The 
third place set up to be an automobile roadhouse, and 
while probably the poorest eating-house of the three, 
with its gay electric sign, the cars standing in the drive¬ 
way and the screened porch with little tables, it was 
inviting. Thither Larry led Phillida. In his present 
humour none but the “best” would do. 

Seated opposite Phillida on the porch with a rosy- 
shaded light on the table and flowers in a glass, he was 
filled with a queer, shaky pleasure that he did not 
stop to examine very closely. What of it? He had 
been through such a hellish time, surely he could let 
himself go for a while, and make believe he was just a 
fellow taking his girl out. Phillida, so quiet, so lady¬ 
like, so full of sense, was exactly what a man would 
choose to have sitting opposite him. None of the 
queer circumstances that surrounded her had been ex¬ 
plained, but when you were with her, it was impossible 
to doubt her. Fearful that somebody might suspect 
the true relation between them, he treated her with a 
slightly exaggerated courtesy. 

172 


173 


Tete-a-Tete 

As usual in such places, there was a long and elabo¬ 
rate menu card, mostly printed in French. Upon in¬ 
quiry, however, you discovered that the choice lay be¬ 
tween chicken and steak. Larry handed the card over. 

“What will you have?” 

“This sort of place always makes me angry,” Phil- 
lida said, with a glance at it. “It’s plain robbery.” 

“Sure,” said Larry. “But never mind. The other 
places were fierce.” 

She chose the simplest dish. 

“Is that all?” he said with falling face. 

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t!” she said, with a flash of 
annoyance. 

“Wouldn’t what?” he asked blankly. 

“Treat me so! ... It creates a false situation. I 
cannot be natural.” 

He was as disappointed as a boy that she refused 
to play up to his dream. “I wish you well,” he mur¬ 
mured. 

She laughed, then seeing his hurt look added quickly, 
“I can’t help it! It’s all so ... so perfectly ridicu- 
lous!” 

“Don’t you believe that I wish you well?” persisted 
Larry. 

“That’s just it! ... Oh, it’s altogether too much 
for me!” She shrugged, and laughed again, half an¬ 
noyed, half friendly. 

The situation was too much for Larry likewise, but 
he would not think about it. He was lost in her. How 
wonderful she was to him with all that her lovely, 
composed face half-expressed: so wise, so ready to 
laugh, so honest! In the literal sense of the word he 


174 Officer! 

became rapt as he gazed. He was forced to speak 
low; his voice was shaken with emotion. 

“I wish we could go back to New York in a car,” 
he said at random, “but I doubt if they’d stand for it.” 

“I doubt it too,” she said dryly. . . . “What a lot 
of money you must have spent chasing me!” 

“Oh, it’s all right as long as . . Delicacy for¬ 
bade him to finish. 

“As long as you’ve got me!” she said wickedly. 

Larry blushed. 

“How will we go?” she asked. 

“Local trains. It’ll be after midnight before we 
arrive.” 

“Well, I’m in no hurry,” she said, smiling. 

“Neither am I,” he said, not smiling at all. 

Her eyes suddenly discovered business elsewhere. 

“I want you to have something nice,” urged Larry. 
“I want this to be a real meal.” He became confused 
again. “Look here,” he blurted out, “this doesn’t go 
down on my expense account. This is on me.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t have that,” she said quickly. Then 
she laughed helplessly. “You’re so funny!” she said. 
“You always take me by surprise.” 

“That’s nothing to what you do to me,” murmured 
Larry. 

“Please don’t mind my laughing,” she said apolo¬ 
getically. “One has to laugh . . . there’s nothing else 
to do!” 

“I don’t mind it . . . when you laugh like that,” 
said Larry softly. “ . . . But what was funny?” 

“Why, you’re expecting me to help you celebrate my 
capture!” she said. 


Tete-a-Tete 175 

“Oh!” said Larry. “I never thought of it that 
way. I just wanted to see you eat.” 

His shocked expression caused her to laugh afresh. 

“I am a fool,” said Larry, looking in his plate. 

She made no comment on that remark, but when he 
took his eyes from her face, her eyes flew to his. 
There was astonishment in her glance, and a certain 
tenderness. No true woman can mistake a deep and 
genuine passion for herself, nor can she be affronted 
by it, however extraordinary the circumstances under 
which it may be offered. 

Larry raised his head. “Just the same I’m going 
to order a proper meal,” he said doggedly. “If you 
won’t eat it, I won’t either.” 

“Go as far as you like,” she said. There was some¬ 
thing almost maternal in her kind glance upon him. 

In the end they both ate largely, and felt corre¬ 
spondingly refreshed. 

It was curious how, though their kindness towards 
each other could no longer be hidden, they could not 
discuss their situation without Phillida falling into 
helpless laughter, and Larry into helpless scowling. 
Neither wanted to talk about it, but it was continually 
getting itself dragged back into their talk. Larry 
wished to ignore the situation; Phillida, unconquera¬ 
bly honest, insisted on recognising it, but held that it 
was not improved by being talked about. It was gen¬ 
erally Phillida, of course, much more nimble and ready 
than the man, who steered the conversation away from 
the rocks. 

The roadhouse, which was comparatively remote 
from the main routes of travel, and was therefor con- 


176 


Officer! 

sidered discreet and attractively fast, was better pat¬ 
ronised than the run of such places. It was a charac¬ 
teristically flash automobile crowd. Phillida, what¬ 
ever her private anxieties were, could be interested in 
all of them. 

“That woman yonder would be interesting to paint,” 
she remarked. “That’s not real red hair, but her in¬ 
stinct was sound in dyeing it red. . . . There are so 
many ways you can paint a person; as you see them, 
or as they see themselves; as they are, or as their 
mothers expected them to be. . . . She’s not having a 
bit of a good time. Paying for her dinner with hollow 
smiles. He knows they’re hollow too, but is satisfied 
that he’s getting his money’s worth, because she’s con¬ 
spicuous.” 

Larry had never known a woman who talked like 
this. High-brow stuff—yet when she spoke it, how 
natural and simple it sounded. It charmed him, and 
rendered him very uneasy too. How could he, plain 
fellow that he was, hope to aspire to a woman who had 
such thoughts? 

“I don’t believe any of the people here are having 
a good time,” Phillida went on. “They just think 
there must be fun here, because it’s so expensive.” 

Larry concealed a smile. His thought was, I’m hav¬ 
ing a good time! But he knew if he spoke it she 
would laugh at him. 

“They’re not even crazy about each other, poor 
things!” said Phillida. “They only wish to be. 
Strange, isn’t it, how people insist on deceiving them¬ 
selves. If they’d only be natural they’d feel so free 
and jolly!” 


177 


Tete-a-Tete 

Larry only heard a part of this, a sentence that 
made his pulses stir. “How do you know they’re not 
crazy about each other?” he asked very off-hand. 

“That is something anybody can tell, isn’t it?” 

“Do you mean you always know when a man is crazy 
about you?” 

“Certainly. That is what one’s instincts are for.” 

“I suppose there have been a good many, said 
Larry, in what he supposed was a very subtle manner. 

“Oh, let’s not get personal,” she said, with a shrug. 
“It’s tiresome. Look at that man by the door with 
the funny bumps on his head. Self-esteem. He thinks 
he’s a sad dog!” 

Larry had not assurance enough to bring the conver¬ 
sation back to the personal again. 

It was presently time for them to go for their train. 
When they boarded it, he apologised for the lack of a 
parlour car, and Phillida laughed again. In his heart 
Larry was thankful there was no parlour car, for thus 
he could sit side by side with her in the ordinary coach. 
He wished there might be some slight accident to de¬ 
lay them on the road for hours. Or if it was only 
winter and the train stuck in a snowdrift. She was so 
friendly it made him foolish with happiness. If you 
could only stay forever floating in that delicious state 
without the necessity of thinking or doing! 

The slow train jogged from station to station. The 
last train of the day on that branch, it was filled with 
weary families returning from a day’s outing at the 
shore with depleted lunch baskets and replete stom¬ 
achs. The children slept sprawling on their parents, 
or squabbled unpleasantly with each other; the aisle 


178 


Officer! 


was littered with orange peel and crumpled paper. 
The last slow train is an uncomfortable vehicle, but 
that was nothing to the good-looking couple laughing 
together on the last seat. 

They were happy, God knows why. Because they 
were young, and tired of racking their brains. The 
fact that their laughter was but a thin covering for the 
deepest of feelings gave it a rare quality. They were 
dancing on the crust of a crater so to speak. 

Phillida was pleased with Larry’s exterior, and made 
no secret of it. “You look much nicer in those clothes,” 
she remarked on one occasion. 

“Think so?” said Larry, looking ridiculously self- 
conscious. 

She laughed her silvery laugh. 

“I’m not conceited!” said Larry. 

She renewed her laughter. 

“Well, you’re conceited yourself,” said Larry. “You 
think there’s nobody like you.” 

“That’s true,” she said, cocking up her chin. 
“Everybody ought to be conceited. It makes life in¬ 
teresting. Conceit striking sparks from conceit! The 
humble ones are not worth bothering about. They 
simply invite you to tread on them.” 

“You’re a great little treader,” said Larry. 

“How do you know? You’re not humble.” 

(Delicious flattery!) 

“You treated me as if I simply wasn’t there,” said 
Larry. 

“You must excuse me,” she said demurely. “I never 
was arrested before. How ought a girl to treat the 
man who takes her to the station house?” 


179 


Tete-a-Tete 

Even Larry had to laugh at that, though the sub¬ 
ject was a sore one. His laughter had a generous, 
deep ring, and it set her off afresh. Seeing them, one 
would have supposed them bound on a honeymoon in¬ 
stead of to jail. 

But it was a precarious jollity; a word was likely to 
wreck it. As when she said thoughtlessly: 

“Having a good time?” 

Larry instantly went grave, and all his pent-up feel¬ 
ings began to struggle for utterance. “On the outside, 
yes! . . . But inside . . . No! . . . No! . . .” 

“Oh, well, let’s stick on the outside,” she said 
quickly. 

But it was too late. Larry was too heavy moving a 
body to be so easily diverted. His voice had become 
low and^deep. “I never could be really easy in my 
mind . . . unless I knew . . . that man . . . 

“What man?” 

“You know ... the Englishman . . .” 

“But what has he got to do with you . . . really, I 
mean?” she asked, genuinely astonished. 

“If you know so much about people,” Larry mur¬ 
mured low. “. . . You must know that.” 

Then she understood. “Ohh!” she breathed. “But 
do you mean ... it really hurt you?” 

“Hurt me!” said Larry. “What do you think I’m 
made of?” 

Neither could bear to look at the other in that mo¬ 
ment. “I thought you were just conceited,” she mur¬ 
mured. “It started that way.” 

“Maybe,” said Larry. “Who’s to know how a 
thing’s going to end?” 


180 


Officer! 

She had nothing to say to that. She made believe 
to look out of the window, though it was perfectly 
dark by now, and all she could see was a tenuous re¬ 
flection of her own face. After a while she said in a 
careful voice: 

“He is nothing to me.” 

“How can that be,” said poor Larry, “when he’s 
all mixed up with you in this?” 

“That’s just accident.” 

“He’s been backing you right along.” 

“It was to his own interest to do so.” 

“You were expecting him at the hotel to-day all the 
time you were stringing me along.” 

“That’s true,” she said at once. “I had an appoint¬ 
ment to meet him there to talk over our business— 
his business it is really.” 

Larry’s voice dropped lower still. “He came right 
into your room ... as if he had a right there . . .” 

“And did you mind that?” she asked, with a quick, 
astonished, soft look in his face. 

“I could have killed him for it,” muttered Larry. 

She looked away very quickly. There was a silence. 
She presently said in an elaborately offhand tone: 

“But be reasonable. He couldn’t very well send up 
his name, could he? As a matter of fact I had tele¬ 
graphed him the number of my room, so he could come 
right up without applying at the desk. When he got 
to the door he heard voices inside. He listened, and 
the situation became clear to him. That was why he 
came in without knocking.” 

It was impossible not to believe her. An unspeak- 


Tete-a-Tete 


181 


able joy flooded Larry’s breast. He felt as if he had 
got rid of a corroding ulcer there. “I’m glad . . . 
I’m glad . . he stammered, with a foolish air, and 
terribly in earnest. 

Phillida was prepared to be angry then. Her speech 
bubbled out. “What’s the matter with your instincts ?” 
she demanded. “You saw the man. You must have 
known what he was. It’s written in his face clear 
enough. How could you suppose that I . . . that I 
. . . That! . . . Oh-h-h!” 

Larry laughed out of pure gladness. His eyes 
adored her. “You . . he said confusedly, “when 
you’re mad . . . you look so . . . I . . .” Speech 
failed him altogether. He instinctively put his hand 
over hers. 

With a sharp intake of the breath, she snatched her 
hand away. “Not that! Not that!” she said in a muf¬ 
fled voice. “That would be too grotesque!” 

He felt dimly that she was not facing the situation 
then. It was very difficult to express himself. “What’s 
that got to do with it . . . how it looks, I mean . . . 
if you ... if you . . .” 

“I don’t!” she said quickly. “You have no reason to 
suppose anything of the kind!” 

He took her at her word, and was greatly cast down 
again. There was a long, unhappy silence. 

“Who is he, really?” Larry asked at last. 

“I can’t tell you that.” 

“I heard the other man call him: ‘My Lord.’ ” 

Phillida laughed nervously. There was fright in 
the swift look she gave Larry. It distressed him very 


182 Officer! 

much to see it in those brave eyes. “That’s just a name 
they give him, because of his high and mighty airs,” 
she said. 

He did not believe her. All his miserable doubts 
and suspicions came thronging back. “I suppose you’re 
not going to tell me what lies behind all this,” he said 
sullenly. 

“How could I?” she asked distressfully. 

“Sure, you couldn’t. I’m the police.” 

“That’s not it. I cannot tell anybody.” 

“You’ll have to tell in court.” 

“I shall not, though.” 

“Then you’ll be convicted.” 

“I have that in mind.” 

To question her only rendered her stubborn. Larry 
felt as if he was beating his head against a wall. After 
he had opened his breast wide to her, after he had 
handed himself over to her, to find that she could still 
be stony, caused him unendurable pain. His temper 
gave way at last. 

“Huh! You talk about being natural and honest! 
Either you’re lying, or just play-acting! . . . You say 
this man is nothing to you, yet you’re willing to go to 
jail for him! What am I to believe from that?” 

Phillida merely looked into the blank glass of her 
window. 

Such was their stormy journey. In all it lasted five 
hours. They had to change twice—in each case to an¬ 
other slow train. Over and over the same ground they 
went, without getting an inch ahead. Most of the 
time they were quarrelling in low, sharp, embittered 
voices. They were able to hurt each other so! Even 


183 


Tete-a-Tete 

in the heat of quarrelling Larry never succeeded in 
extracting any admission from Phillida that would 
throw a gleam of light on the situation. 

“You entered his room at the Colebrook with a 
false key! That’s proved!” 

“Well, if it’s proved, let it go at that!” 

“But why? Why did you do it? I don’t want to 
think you’re a common thief!” 

“Then call me an uncommon one.” 

“You’re only tormenting me.” 

“Well, what do you think you’re doing to me?” 

“Then tell me why you broke into his room.” 

“If I broke into his room,” said Phillida cautiously, 
“you might know that I had a good reason for doing 
so.” 

“That’s just spinning words!” 

“Well, what do you expect? I told you in the be¬ 
ginning that I wasn’t going to explain anything.” 

“When you were caught in his room you said that 
he had invited you in. You made out that . . . well 
you know what you made out! I can’t stand it!” 

“You’re always accusing me of lying,” said Phil¬ 
lida very low. “Maybe I was lying then.” 

“Ha! You admit it then!” 

“I admit nothing.” 

“What did you go in for?” 

“You do not know that I was in!” 

“This gets us nowhere!” 

“Then for heaven’s sake drop it!” 

“I can’t drop it!” cried poor Larry. “I hate a 
thief!” 

“And I hate a policeman!” retorted Phillida. 


184 Officer! 

Every word they said to each other made matters 
worse. Nevertheless there were moments of reconcili¬ 
ation; inexplicable, unreasonable reconciliations, when, 
in the midst of their bitterest words, their eyes would 
confess to each other and beseech mercy; whereupon 
the quarrel would abruptly break down. 

At such a moment Phillida pleaded softly: “Ah, 
don’t talk about it! I’m so tired of fighting you! I 
asked you not to talk about it. Nothing can come of 
it!” 

And Larry, deeply moved by her eyes, murmured: 
“God knows I don’t want to talk about it! Talk is 
nothing. Give me your hand. Let me hold you close 
against me, and I’ll not ask for explanations!” 

“No! No! No!” she whispered, pushing him 
away. “That’s impossible!” 

Larry recognised by intuition that this was not a 
repulse but a cry of renunciation, and the uselessness of 
it maddened him. If she wanted him to take her in 
his arms! . . . “What kind of a woman are you?” he 
cried. (His voice was never raised above a sharp 
whisper.) “You turn soft eyes on me, and make your 
voice tremble! Then you push me away. There is no 
honesty in you at all!” 

Phillida was no tame woman. She retorted as an¬ 
gry as he: “If you were not so stupid and self-satisfied 
you would understand that I am in a box ... in a 
box. And I can act no differently.” 

“I don’t know what you expect of a man,” said 
Larry sulkily. 

The silences were more painful, if that were possi¬ 
ble, than the taunts. 


Tete-a-Tete 


185 


After a while Larry said with a great air of uncon¬ 
cern: “Answer me one question plainly, and I’ll drop it. 

. . . Do you ... do you like me a little?” 

“No!” she said quickly and breathlessly. She fell 
back in her seat as if she were exhausted, and put a 
hand over her eyes. 

“Oh, well,” said Larry, attempting to carry it off 
with a sneer, “then I know where I am.” 

But when he looked at her presently, he saw tears 
stealing down under her hand. He looked at the 
bright drops, stupefied. Phillida, the plucky one, who 
had fought him with such spirit all these hours, crying! 
The sight caused him a shock of pain as if a dagger 
with a curly blade had been pushed into his breast. 
Yet he was angry still. 

“Yes, cry now!” he said, with curling lip. “Isn’t 
that like a woman!” 

She turned her head so that he could not see any 
more tears, but he guessed that they were falling still. 
He could not hold out against them. He darted little 
angry glances at her, and ground his teeth. “Ahh!” he 
said, scowling ferociously. “Ahh ... !” 

Then suddenly he broke down, and the wild, con¬ 
fused, unpremeditated words came tumbling out: 
“Don’t! Don’t! I can’t stand it! Oh, I’m sorry! 
You hurt me so I didn’t know what I was saying. If 
you can always tell, you must know how it is with me. 
It’s not square if you know me inside and out, and you 
won’t let me know you! . . . I am thick-headed, and 
you can do what you like with me! . . . Oh, my God! 
I love you! From the very first moment! Like a man 
out of his wits! I don’t know the rights of this. But 


186 Officer! 

I’ve been in hell, that’s clear! ... I know there’s 
nothing crooked in you. I just tried to make out there 
was. It’s true I hounded you. I was driven to it. 
I’ve been in a maze. Ah, forget that now! I love you! 

I love you! I’d cut off my hand to serve you. You’re 
like a glimpse of heaven to me. I know I have no 
right to look up to you ... I haven’t the words to 
get out what I feel! . . .” 

“Ah! Stop! Stop!” whispered Phillida, with a 
crooked smile, and heavenly, soft eyes. “You have 
plenty of words! ... If you love me as you say—yes, 

I knew it already, but let me be! Ah, let me be! For 
to-night anyway. I’m so tired! I can’t stand any 
more.” 

“Can’t I even touch you?” whispered Larry, humbly. 

By way of answering that she slipped her arm 
through his and pressed it hard against her side. That 
was answer enough for Larry. So they rode the rest 
of the way, without speaking any more, Larry, with 
adoring, bent head; the policeman and his prisoner. 

It was past one when they arrived in the Terminal. 
The last of the night trains had departed, and the vast 
spaces of the great building were empty. The hand¬ 
ful of sleepy passengers straggled across the con¬ 
course, and scattered to their several beds. Larry and 
Phillida obtained a taxicab. 

“Police headquarters, Mulberry Street,” said Larry 
to the driver. 

He had had an interval of blessed peace, but with 
the speaking of those words it was shattered. An 
agitation took possession of him, that increased with 


187 


Tete-a-Tete 

every yard that brought them nearer to their destina¬ 
tion. He struggled with it in silence, not wishing to 
distress her further—her hand lay in his; but as they 
passed a street lamp the light flashed in his face, and 
Phillida read the hard agony there. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, startled. 

“In a minute I’ll have to hand you over,” he 
groaned. “And you’ll be locked up . . . locked up! 
And through me! . . . And me walking around out¬ 
side. Free, my God! Where could I go? Where 
could I find rest? It’ll drive me out of my senses!” 

“Hush! Hush!” she said. “The situation is not of 
your making. You have only done what you had to 
do.” 

“No!” he said. “That’s only how I bluffed myself. 
I brought it about. If it hadn’t been for me it would 
have been dropped and forgotten!” 

“But it’s no such great matter as that,” she said. 
“I have no dread of the cell. According to my own 
ideas I’ve done no wrong. My mind is at rest. ’ 

“I can’t stand it!” groaned Larry. 

She turned in her seat; her arms went swiftly about 
his neck, and down she drew his head until their lips 
pressed together. He drifted away into forgetfulness. 

She dropped back with a sigh. “Will that help you 
to bear it?” she whispered. 

“Oh, Phillida! . . . Phillida . . . !” 

“I love you with all my heart!” she whispered. 
“You’re a man! So real! So brave and strong and 
simple. I can’t help myself. I’ve got to love you!” 

“But I’m not all that,” whispered Larry humbly. 
“I’m a dunderhead. You’re always laughing at me!” 


188 Officer! 

“That’s why I love you,” she said, laughing then, 
deep in her throat, as women do. 

“Why did you push me away,” said Larry reproach¬ 
fully. “Think of the hours we wasted in the train.” 

“I was afraid!” 

“Afraid?” 

“Don’t you understand? I couldn’t have given in 
to you . . . without telling you everything.” 

“Tell me now!” whispered Larry swiftly. “Quick, 
we’re almost there! Give me some ease!” 

“You see! . . . Isn’t it enough that I love you?” 

“Tell me! Tell me!” 

“No! No! No!” 

The cab stopped in front of Headquarters. Larry 
stuck his head out to tell the man to drive on, and 
come back later. But Phillida thrust the door out of 
his hand, and pushing past him, ran up the steps of the 
building. Larry had no choice but to follow. 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE BIG BOSSES 

L ARRY’S detail to the Detective Bureau ended au¬ 
tomatically with the delivery of his prisoner. 
Early next morning he was making his way to his own 
station house, clad once more in the blue coat and brass 
buttons. Years seemed to have passed over his head 
in the last three days. He was greatly dreading the 
ordeal of facing his comrades. A square bunch, he 
liked them well; that was just the trouble. They would 
naturally expect him to pick things up with them just 
where they had been dropped. 

How could he? He was a changed man. More¬ 
over his nerves were all on edge. He had not slept 
the night through. His eyes were bloodshot and 
strained with watching. And a single thought went 
on hammering in his head until he was nearly out of 
his mind with it . . . Phillida in a cell! . . . Phillida 
in a cell . . . ! 

The morning papers were full of the story. Larry 
had merely glanced over the headlines with a sick feel¬ 
ing. Probably the public was not especially interested 
in the case, but every policeman on the force felt a 
deep satisfaction that the prestige of “the finest” had 
been brilliantly restored by one of their number. 
Larry anticipating the welcome that awaited him from 
his own mates, shivered at it. 

And indeed, something like a cheer greeted him as 
189 


190 Officer! 

he entered the station house. There were no outsiders 
present. The bluecoats crowded up to shake his hand 
and clap him on the back. They quickly led him into 
the common room where the reserves wait during their 
hours on duty, and closed the door. They regarded 
him as theirs. 

“Good boy, Larry! . . . You turned the trick, old 
fella! ... You put this precinct on the map all right 
. . . You were therejwith the come-back for the old 
force! . . .” 

“Tell us the story!” was the general cry. 

“Nothing to tell,” mumbled Larry. 

“Go on! You wasn’t always the modest violet. 
This is something new!” 

“I hadn’t ought to talk until the case comes to trial,” 
objected Larry. 

A general laugh greeted such excessive delicacy. 
“It’s only amongst ourselves!” 

“Besides, it’s all in the papers anyway,” said another. 

“It was Headquarters gave it out,” said Larry 
sorely. “The newspaper lads got nothing out of me.” 

“Sure, they gave it out! Do you suppose they’d 
suppress it after the way it was published all over how 
the girl spit in our eye?” 

“Well, if you read the papers what more do you 
want?” 

“The inside dope, old bean!” 

“Is it true she’s a lulu, a peach, a Ziegfeld star?” 

“You bet!” answered another voice. “I seen her 
in the station here. A little queen!” 

“Did she put up a fight? Don’t see no scratches on 
your rosy cheeks.” 


The Big Bosses 191 

“Go on! She fell for handsome Larry, all right!’' 

“Honest, did she try to make up to you?” 

“What did you talk about coming home on the 
train?” 

There are limits to every man’s patience, and Larry 
was not the most patient of men. He finally exploded. 
“Shut up, you fellows. I’m not talking, understand? 
That’s final!” 

They saw that there was something more than a 
joke in this, and fell silent. They drew away from 
Larry somewhat, looking at him queerly, and exchang¬ 
ing meaning glances with each other. He could see 
that there would be a great klatsch over this as soon 
as he was out of hearing . . . “Oh, well,” he thought, 
“they’ll soon know.” 

Later, alone with Matt McArdle, Larry did not feel 
so prickly. Matt and he were of the same age, and 
had joined the force together. There was an attach¬ 
ment between them all the stronger in that it had never 
been, and never could be acknowledged in words. 
Matt did not question Larry. 

“Gee! I envy you, old fel’! Pounding the pave¬ 
ment seems like pretty slow work after fluffing around 
like you been. Very likely you won’t have to go back 
to it now.” 

Larry had the impulse to open his heart to Matt, 
but it was difficult to speak of these things in cold 
blood. “You’ve got nothing to envy me for,” he mut¬ 
tered. “I’ve made a prime fool of myself, if you want 

to know.” . . 

Matt stared. “After you brought her in and all! 
After you took her single-handed against them all! 


192 Officer! 

“Hell!” said Larry morosely. “You don’t want to 
believe all you read in the papers.” 

Honest Matt regarded his friend as if he thought 
him slightly demented. 

“I’m in a jam!” said Larry, with extreme bitterness. 
“Any way you look at it; jammed! I cant see any¬ 
thing clear. All I know is, it’s wrong! wrong! The 
whole business, I mean. What goes down with every¬ 
body? Nothing but foolishness and lies! ... If a 
fellow could only get a fresh clean start! Digging in 
the earth ought to be honest work anyway!” 

“Only a woman could turn a man upside down like 
this,” said young Matt sagely. 

Larry did not reject the suggestion. It was a com¬ 
fort to talk around the subject with his friend. “Have 
you ever been knocked absolutely endwise?” he asked. 
“Bowled over; floored; beaten down?” 

Matt shook his head. “My time is yet to come,” 
he said simply. 

“Well, when it comes I won’t be envying you,” said 
Larry. 

Matt could not help but understand then. His lips 
formed themselves in a noiseless whistle. “What are 
you going to do?” he asked with a touch of awe. 

Larry, foreseeing expostulations and arguments, 
could not bring himself to tell his friend of the re¬ 
solve he had taken. “I don’t know,” he said eva¬ 
sively. 

In the course of the morning the station house was 
visited by no less a personage than the great Inspector 
Durdan, chief of the Detective Bureau. Larry had 
not seen him at Headquarters the night before. The 


The Big Bosses 193 

Inspector went into conference with Larry’s Captain, 
and Larry was presently sent for. 

The Inspector rose at his entrance, and offered him 
a cordial hand. “Good work, Harker! he said. It s 
a pleasure to be able to congratulate a young officer on 
such a neat job.” 

Under the circumstances this had a horrible irony 
for Larry. He tried to turn it off by saying: The two 
men got away from me.” 

The Inspector probably attributed his peculiar man¬ 
ner to a young man’s natural diffidence. “It was a 
physical impossibility to bring them all in,” he said, with 
a wave of the hand. 

“Have the men been caught?” Larry asked with an 
eagerness he could not conceal. 

“No,” said the Inspector. “They’ve slipped through 
Shane’s fingers once, and are likely to do so again. 
Evidently fellows of a high degree of cunning ... A 
thankless job,” he went on dryly. “I think we’ll leave 
it to Shane. Especially as there’s no charge against 
the men. We got nothing out of the girl that would 
incriminate them. She’s a hard one! In three hours 
we got nothing out of her that we didn’t know already.” 

Three hours! Larry pictured those three hours. 
His face got red; a mist swam before his eyes; his 
collar choked him. Then he went pale. 

The Inspector did not remark these physical mani¬ 
festations. “Let them go, I say,” he went on. “What 
we wanted was the girl who brought the whole force 
into disrepute. And we’ve got her. And we’ve got 
enough to jail her on too, let her be as stubborn and 
mum as she chooses.” 


194 Officer! 

Larry clenched his teeth, and held himself in. 

“As for yourself, Harker,” the Inspector went on, 
“you’ve proved your mettle as a detective. You’re 
pretty young for the job, but we need some of all kinds, 
and it’s a fault you’ll grow out of. The Commissioner 
himself spoke about you. I have an order in my pocket 
for your permanent transfer to the Detective Bureau.” 

He paused to receive the confused and grateful 
thanks that he expected. But Larry was not feeling 
like that. He had a difficult task ahead of him, and 
the right words would not present themselves. It was 
no joke for a lad like him to set himself up in opposi¬ 
tion to the big bosses. But it had to be gone through 
with. It was the first necessary step towards recover¬ 
ing his peace of mind. 

“Well?” said the Inspector, surprised by his silence. 

Still the right words did not come, and Larry obeyed 
dumb instinct more eloquent than words. He unpinned 
the nickel badge on his breast, and laid it on the Cap¬ 
tain’s desk. 

“What’s this for?” both men cried out in astonish¬ 
ment. 

“I want to get out, sir,” Larry said simply. 

“What! Leave the force! What’s the matter with 
you?” cried Captain Craigin, who was somewhat hot- 
tempered. 

“I’m not fitted to be a patrolman, or a detective 
either,” said Larry. 

“What! After the Inspector has just told you you 
had proved yourself. What foolishness has got into 
you?” 

“I have proved nothing, sir,” said Larry steadily. 


The Big Bosses 195 

“I kept falling down all the time. In the end it was 
just a bit of luck.” . 

“Well, we judge by results,” said the Inspector 
dryly. “At any rate you showed doggedness.” 

“Doggedness gets you in wrong as often as not,” 

said Larry bitterly. „ 

“Come now, give me a plain reason if you have one, 
said the Inspector. “Why do you want to get out?” 

“I don’t like running down crooks and bringing them 
in,” said Larry bluntly. . 

The Inspector resented the slur at his profession 
which was dear to him, and his face turned hard. “Ha! 
you feel yourself too good for the job!” 

“You get me wrong, sir,” said Larry, anxious not 
to offend. “There’s nothing the matter with the force. 

I like the men, and I respect the officials. But . . . 
but . . . you can get plenty to take my place.” 

Inspector and Captain exchanged a look. Like Matt 
they were prepared to believe that Larry was a little off 
his chump. Throwing up such rosy prospects! ^ 

“I’m curious about this sympathy for crooks,” said 
the Inspector sarcastically. 

Larry, feeling the approach of danger, turned wary. 

“Or for one particular crook maybe . . .” 

Larry set his jaw and looked straight ahead. 

Captain Craigin burst out with: “Do you mean to 
say you’ve let this Kenley woman come around you. 

An honest indignation surged up in Larry. Thus 
to be badgered after all he had been through! I 
brought her ini” he said. “You said I did my work 
all right. What more do you expect of a man? 

“I expect him to keep his hands clean!” shouted the 


196 Officer! 

Captain. “I don’t expect him to get tangled up with 
the first woman thief he’s sent after!” 

Larry flushed darkly—then suddenly he felt able to 
laugh. A blessed feeling of assurance came to him. 
Larry was developing under stress. “All right, sir,” 
he said good-humouredly. “If you prefer it that way. 
I no longer felt fit to be a policeman, so the square 
thing seemed to be to give up my badge.” 

The choleric Captain, suspecting that his leg was 
being pulled, merely glared at him. 

The Inspector was a wiser man. Larry by the very 
look of him, his inches and his straight gaze, was a man 
to delight a commander’s heart, and he was loth to 
let him go. “Sure, that was the right thing to do,” he 
said, good-humoured himself. “And if you want to go, 
we’re not going to ask you to stay. Too many appli¬ 
cants . . . But sometimes young fellows have foolish 
impulses. You’ve done a good bit of work. Too bad 
to spoil it, and spoil all your prospects on an impulse. 
Look here, I want two men to go out to ’Frisco on a 
job. You’ll be gone two weeks. See the country. Get 
fresh ideas. How about it?” 

Larry could not stand out against a friendly manner. 
He blushed with gratification. “I can’t take it, sir. 
But I sure am obliged to you. I’ve had a good time 
here. I don’t want any hard feelings when I go. I’ve 
got to go. It’s no impulse. It’s just one of those things 
you can’t help.” 

The Inspector lost interest in Larry. He rose. 
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve spent too much time on this 
matter. The rest lies between you and your Captain.” 

There followed a very bad half hour for Larry. 


CHAPTER XV 

IN THE VISITORS’ ROOM 


HAT afternoon Larry walked the streets with a 



certain ease at his breast. True his difficulties 
were still all ahead of him; he did not minimise them; 
but he was no longer divided against himself. That is 
what brings a man down. He could face things out 
now. He owed allegiance but in one direction. He 
was free to devote himself to the single purpose of get¬ 
ting Phillida out of her cell. He was on his way to 
see her. 

Theoretically, prisoners awaiting trial are supposed 
to have a keeper within hearing of all interviews save 
those with counsel, but in a crowded city prison this 
is not always practicable. There is a big visitors’ room 
with benches around the walls. On these benches the 
prisoners and their friends sit side by side. A number 
of keepers patrol the room, keeping a sharp watch for 
gifts passing, but there can be no pretence of hearing 
what is said. 

Larry’s person was not known at the prison. He was 
in plain clothes again. To obviate the danger of gossip, 
he gave an assumed name at the gate. In the course 
of their stormy interview Larry and his Captain had 
found themselves in agreement on one point; that it 
would be better for the present to keep from the news¬ 
papers the fact that the “hero” of the Kenley case had 


197 


198 Officer! 

resigned from the force. Larry was shown into the 
visitors’ room. 

Larry’s own troubles had engendered in him an un¬ 
wonted softness of heart towards others. Since the 
late complete reversal of his point of view, he was all 
on the side of the prisoners. Poor devils! you never 
knew! He looked about at them and at their friends 
with a strong fellow-feeling. It was surprising when 
you saw a number of them together, what a decent 
looking lot they were. Much like any other crowd. 
Perhaps the out and out bad eggs didn’t have vis¬ 
itors. 

There were two groups in particular that held his 
attention. Opposite him a good-looking young sailor 
with his girl-wife and their baby. The young couple 
were pressed close together on the bench; the carefully 
dressed babe sat in his mother’s lap, and his father 
bent down to play with him. The sight caught at the 
breast. Of course good looks are no warranty of good 
behaviour, but whatever it was the young fellow may 
have done, certainly none but the purest feelings showed 
in his face now. 

Farther along there was a mother visiting her young 
son. Not at all the conventional picture of the broken¬ 
hearted, grey-haired, sweet-faced, etc., etc. This 
mother was smiling cheerfully at her son, and he at 
her; each putting a good face on a bad matter to keep 
up the other’s spirits. The old lady had brought, of 
all things, a camera, and the lad was carefully explain¬ 
ing to her how to use it. 

It was a noteworthy fact that all around the room 
while there were plenty of tears falling, there were no 


199 


In the Visitors’ Room 

reproaches to be seen. Parents, husbands, wives, chil¬ 
dren and pals, they were all absolutely with the pris¬ 
oners in whatever trouble they had got themselves 
into. Observing this, Larry said to himself with a feel¬ 
ing of surprise: “. . . Gee 1 Folks are decent to each 
other!” 

He sat there coolly enough, feeling better able to 
cope with things than he had for some days past. But 
when he beheld Phillida being brought towards him, 
pale, but with her chin up, and the suggestion of a 
smile hovering about her lips, a sudden storm of emo¬ 
tion blew him clean off his foundation. He was seized 
and shaken by his feelings until there was no sense 
left in him; he was just a great yearning. 

She gave him her hand with an enchanting smile. 
“I W as hoping it might be you,” she whispered, “but 
I scarcely dared believe they would let you come.” 

Larry was incapable of speaking. 

They sat down on the bench, pressing close together 
like that other couple across the way, their clasped 
hands hidden between them. Phillida, like a true wo¬ 
man, sought about for something to say that would 
tide over the first difficult moments. 

“They let me see the papers this morning. Weren’t 
they funny about us?” 

“Oh, Phillida,” groaned Larry, “seeing you here, I 
can’t ... I can’t . . .” 

As in many another case in the room, it ^was the 
prisoner who played the part of comforter. “It’s not 
nearly as bad as you think,” said Phillida. This day 
has passed as quickly as other days. I’ve been sleeping 
ever since morning.” 


200 Officer! 

“But last night,” whispered Larry. “They told me 
. . . they put you through the third degree. Good 
God! I know what that is! And after all you’d been 
through before . . 

“It wasn’t like you see it on the stage,” said Phillida, 
smiling. “Nobody hurt me . . . It was very tire¬ 
some. I was nearly dead with sleep . . . But they 
didn’t get anything out of me!” 

Larry squeezed her hand hard. This meant: You 
can tell me now! 

Phillida murmured: “Ah! it’s good to have you so 
close!” 

“Then you do love me?” he whispered, fixing her 
with his hungry blue eyes. 

“Did you doubt it?” she asked, smiling. 

“Yes,” he said humbly. “When I thought it over 
... it seemed impossible that you could . . .” 

“How are the mighty fallen!” murmured Phillida. 

He laughed. 

“How long will they let you stay, dear?” 

“Ah! Say that again! . . . Half an hour, I think. 
I’ve got a lot to tell you . . . but I’m short of breath 
. . . When I’m so close to you I can’t think!” 

“Move away, then.” 

“No! No!” 

“You dear! . . . But I must hear what you’ve got 
to say.” 

“I’ll tell you. After all it’s a simple thing. I’ve 
left the police.” 

“Larry!” 

“You said you hated a policeman.” 

“I just meant the idea of it.” 


In the Visitors’ Room 201 

“Well, I hate the idea too, now. So I’ve chucked 
it.” 

“Howyou always manage to surprise me!” she said. 
“Serves me right for telling myself I knew you . . . 
Well, I’m glad. It was inevitable. That would never 
have satisfied you . . . What are you going to do?” 

The question hurt him a little. “What do you sup¬ 
pose I’m going to do? . . . Going to get you out 
first. Then we’ll see.” 

She turned away her head, and constraint fell be¬ 
tween them like a curtain. 

“Is that all you’ve got to say to it?” asked Larry. 

No answer from Phillida. She understood very well 
what he was after. 

“Are you going to make me beg for it?” Larry mur¬ 
mured sorely. “A man has his pride.” 

“Ah! Must we go all through that again!” she 
whispered painfully. 

“Again? Everything is changed now, isn’t it?” 

“I love you!” she whispered. 

“When people love they don’t keep things back, do 
they? You have everything there is of me, and you 
give me just a little piece of yourself in return. What 
kind of love is that? You don’t trust me!” 

“Dear, dear Larry,” she whispered. “It’s not my 
secret.” 

This made him angry. “Then it’s his secret. Do you 
think I’m going to stand for that?” 

“You couldn’t be jealous of a man like that! 

“I could be jealous of your sacrificing yourself for 
him; of your going to jail to serve him. The fact 
that’s he’s no good only makes it worse . . .” 


202 Officer! 

“I am not going to jail to serve him!” cried Phil- 
lida indignantly. “You are miles from the truth!” 

“You can put me right!” 

She miserably shook her head. 

He bent his head close to hers, and held her hard. 
“This is the real thing between you and me, isn’t it?” 
he whispered. “We’re plighted. We’re going to be 
married some day, aren’t we? With me it’s until 
death!” 

“And me,” she whispered. 

“Then don’t you owe me a little something, too? 
God knows I am not much! But you have taken me. 
Haven’t I a right . . 

“Do you mean you would not want to marry a con¬ 
victed felon?” she whispered sharply. 

“I do not mean that,” he whispered, mad with the 
pain she caused him. “What is it to me what label 
they stick on you? I can wait for you, too, if I have 
to. I only want to know! How do you expect me to 
lie down in my bed and get up with a secret like this 
between us? How can I go about a man’s business 
with that on my mind!” 

“It is you who have no trust!” she whispered. 

“You ask too much of flesh and blood!” 

“You hurt me so!” 

“Well, I’m not enjoying myself.” 

She drew her hand out of his. 

That cut all the ground from under his feet. “Ah, 
don’t . . . don’t take yourself from me,” he whis¬ 
pered, searching in her face, and groping for her 
hand, careless of who might see. 

She held it from him. “I must make myself hard,” 


203 


In the Visitors’ Room 

she said. “You force it on me. I have been over 
this in my own mind—oh! so many times! Until my 
brain reeled. I cannot think about it any more. There 
is only one course possible for me. And that is to 
keep my mouth shut. I’m going to hold to it with¬ 
out thinking or listening. Nothing can change me.” 

Larry drew back. “This is nothing but dumb 
obstinacy,” he said sullenly. “I can be obstinate, too.” 

Phillida would not look at him. Her face was like 
a mask. She had set her lips as if for good. Larry 
watched her, grinding his teeth. If it was a test of 
strength she wanted, all right. 

It was stifling hot in the room. There was a smell 
of disinfectant and varnish. The keepers patrolled 
up and down, eyeing their charges sharply. From all 
around the walls came the sound of whispering, and 
now and then a suppressed sniffling. No doubt many 
another poignant little drama was being acted out there 
in undertones. 

Finally Larry got the better of mere animal stub¬ 
bornness. He spoke again, and the deeps of his 
nature yielded up an unaccustomed eloquence. “You 
wring my heart with your sweetness,” he whispered. 
“I am killed with wanting you . . . But what a 
poor creature I would be, if I gave in to you, and came 
crawling to your feet! I love you too proudly for that. 
I can still love you and be a man. We’ve got to be 
equals or nothing. I will not stand for this secrecy.” 

One of Phillida’s hands went to her breast. Her 
face gave no sign whatever. “If that’s all you’ve 
got to say . . . please go . . . quickly,” she whis¬ 
pered. 


204 Officer! 

Larry stood up with a jerk. “I’m going! . . . But 
it’s only fair to warn you I don’t mean to let this thing 
drop. If you won’t tell me, by God! 111 find out for 
myself!” 

He lingered for a moment, longing to see her relent. 
But she got to her feet, and avoiding his glance, 
turned towards her keeper. Larry strode out of the 
prison. 


CHAPTER XVI 


VARIOUS LEADS 

N OTWITHSTANDING the care of Larry’s Cap¬ 
tain to withhold the news, somebody at the sta¬ 
tion house talked indiscreetly. In the next morning’s 
papers it was published that Officer Harker, “the young; 
hero of the Kenley case,’’ had resigned from the force. 
It made a piquant item. No reason for Larry’s act 
was given; whoever had talked, his indiscretion 
stopped short of that; and as yet the reporters had 
not succeeded in finding Larry himself. Upon read¬ 
ing the item, Larry precipitately packed his belong¬ 
ings and changed his boarding-house. 

In his new room he sat himself down to consider 
the whole situation. It was a new exercise for Larry 
to think a thing through. The dunderhead was de¬ 
veloping fast. He was fairly well composed in his 
mind. There was a fire burning in him, but he clamped 
down the safety valve, and made it work. He had an 
all-absorbing aim; he had something to do; that kept 
him from flying off the handle. 

He did not disguise from himself that his prospects 
of success were far from rosy. Phillida’s cool as¬ 
surance suggested that her secret was well hidden. 
Moreover Larry no longer had any official standing 
as an investigator. This was a serious handicap. 
Perhaps Shane would help him; the old fox had seemed 
205 


206 Officer! 

friendly. But Shane himself could not lay hands on 
the elusive Englishman, and what chance would Larry, 
the novice, have of doing so ? However the fire burned 
steadily in Larry. ... I will find him, he said to him¬ 
self. His private resources consisted of some hun¬ 
dreds of dollars, his savings. 

He had several lines to work upon, such as they 
were. There was the taxicab driver who had been 
hired by Mr. Felix to rescue Phillida from the police. 
He might be persuaded to lead Larry to his employer. 
Then there was Phillida’s friend, Doreen Innes. It 
was almost certain that Doreen was closely implicated 
in the mystery; but whether she was or no, Larry knew 
that she was in possession of the truth. Failing Mr. 
Felix, he must find Doreen. 

There were those drafts that Doreen and her hus¬ 
band had received from England. Since they came 
from England, it was possible that they might have 
something to do with the case. They might be traced. 
Doreen might have returned to her former boarding¬ 
house, or some word have come from her. Larry 
made up his mind to proceed first to the house on 
Thirty-sixth Street. It was not far from his own place. 

That peculiar-looking woman, Miss Corkerell, re¬ 
ceived him with a wide display of pale gums. She 
was wearing another homemade dress of the violent 
shade of red that she affected because “it gave her 
colour.” An assiduous reader of the newspapers, Miss 
Corkerell was well up in the details of the Kenley case. 
When Larry told her that he had resigned from the 
force in order to devote himself to Phillida’s interest, 
the worthy soul was prepared to embrace him on the 


Various Leads 207 

spot. Like all sentimental spinsters she had a pre- 
disposition in favour of the accused. 

“Always the lady!” she said of Phillida. “Kept 
herself to herself, but not what you d call stuck-up 
neither. Me and her was like sisters. You never saw 
a fellow get fresh with Miss Kenley. At least not 
twice over. She could crumble them up with one look. 

I never could do that myself, being so tender-hearted, 
but it does me good to see it in another girl. If there’s 
anything I like it’s to see a girl with a proper pride 
in her sex put the creatures in their places. Of course 
I mean these good-for-nothing fresh guys, not a serious- 
minded gentleman like yourself. Nobody can tell me 
there was anything crooked about Miss Kenley. She 
wouldn’t have nothing to do with men!” 

Miss Corkerell’s reasoning was rather bewildering, 
but her heart was in the right place, and Larry warmed 
towards her. 

She drowned him in oceans of talk out of which he 
was unable to fish a single minnow of information. 
Since Doreen had departed from her house, presum¬ 
ably for a sanitarium, no word had been received from 
her. No letters had come for her; nobody had called 
to enquire. Miss Corkerell understood that she had 
driven to Grand Central station, but from Grand Cen¬ 
tral you can depart for any quarter of America except 
due south. 

Larry went back to the drafts from England re¬ 
ceived by the Inneses, some of which Miss Corkerell 
had cashed for them at her bank. Persistent ques¬ 
tioning established the fact that these had been bank 
drafts; that is to say orders drawn by a bank in Lon- 


208 Officer! 

don upon a bank in New York. Such drafts may be 
obtained by anybody who goes into a bank with the 
cash in his hand, and nothing may be traced through 
them. Miss Corkerell said that the Inneses had never 
received any letters from England during their stay 
in her house. 

Meanwhile it ever became more difficult to keep 
Miss Corkerell’s mind fixed on Doreen or Phillida. 
She had probably never before found herself an ob¬ 
ject of interest to so good-looking a young man as 
Larry, and it quite carried her off her feet. She sighed, 
she simpered, she grinned with a truly horrifying dis¬ 
play of gums: she ogled him with sidelong glances of 
her pale eyes. Larry became extremely uncomfortable. 
It would have been funny had it been some other man 
who was the object of her attentions. His virginal 
blushes only charmed her the more. Finally she asked 
him to stay to lunch. 

“I was just sitting down to my simple midday meal. 
Of course a girl in my position can not be too care¬ 
ful. Not a soul in the house at this moment but our 
two selves! But I’m sure you’re too much of a gen¬ 
tleman to take advantage of my situation.” 

Larry pleaded urgent business and finally somehow 
found himself upon the sidewalk again in great relief. 

He quickly put Miss Corkerell out of his mind. 
Walking along he cogitated. The only approach to 
Doreen lay through Phillida herself. Phillida was un¬ 
doubtedly writing to Doreen in order to keep up her ail¬ 
ing friend’s spirits. The astute Phillida would never 
post the letters within the prison, but would send them 
out by a friend. One of the girls of the Spotted Pup 


Various Leads 


209 


probably. Dared he go to the Spotted Pup again? 
There was a chance that they might not be on to him 
yet. No photograph of Larry had been published; 
and there had been nothing in the papers about his 
first visit to the Bohemian restaurant, or his trip to 
Barnstaple. It was worth trying. 

But first he meant to look up the taxi driver, and 
afterwards call on Shane. 

When Larry got to the Amsterdam the man he was 
looking for was not to be seen in the cab rank. Larry 
hung about for a while, and in the end had the satis¬ 
faction of seeing his man drive up and take his place 
at the end of the line. He was a young fellow of 
Larry’s own age, with a lively blue eye, and the hard, 
wary, humorous look common to his adventurous 
trade. Upon last seeing this man Larry had been in 
a blind rage, but now he felt kindly towards him. In 
his way the fellow had helped Phillida. 

When Larry stepped up to his cab notwithstanding 
the plain clothes, the chauffeur instantly recognised 
him, and his wary look became intensified. He had 
had a lot of trouble with the police, and didn’t know 
what might be in the wind now. 

“Can you take a fare from me?” asked Larry, “or 
must you wait your turn in line?” 

“If you insist on having me I can take you on,” said 
the chauffeur, with a grin. “Where do you want to 
go?” 

“Drive to some lunch room where we can sit down. 
I want to talk to you private.” 

“More friendly this morning, eh?” said the chauf¬ 
feur. 


210 Officer! 

“Yep. I’m off the force. Maybe you read it in the 
papers.” 

“Are you Harker?” 

“The same.” 

“I read it. Get in.” 

Seated one on each side of a little marble-topped 
table, the two covertly sized each other up as young 
men do. One of those curious intimations that some¬ 
times pass back and forth between humans impelled 
them towards friendliness—but they were not giving 
anything away of course. 

Larry found it difficult to open the matter. “You 
understand I’m on my own in this,” he said highly self- 
conscious. “This is a little investigation I’m making 
for my own satisfaction.” 

“I hear you say it,” said the other guardedly. 

“You say you’ve been reading the papers,” Larry 
went on; “you know then that I went after the girl 
and brought her in two days ago. That was my job 
. . . But I couldn’t stand to see her railroaded. So 
I got off the force. I’m working for her now.” 

The chauffeur nodded. “What do you want of me ?” 
he asked. 

“I want to find the fellow who hired you to give 
the girl a lift.” 

The other looked dubious and wary. 

“I know the guy!” Larry went on. “Tall, English 
stiff, about forty-five years old, looks younger. Regu¬ 
lar swell. English Johnny style. Grey eyes set close 
together. Sort of lordly air. ‘Yes, my good man,’ and 
all that.” 


Various Leads 211 

The chauffeur grinned appreciatively, but said 
nothing. 

“If it wasn’t him, it was his side partner,” Larry 
continued. “Fellow about our age. Five foot eight, 
weight one sixty. Plump face; fresh colour like a 
girl; little straw-colored moustache. Also English.” 

“You seem to know your men,” said the other 
dryly. “What do you expect to prove? If you want 
me to work with you give me the inside dope.” 

“I don’t know it,” muttered Larry. 

“Won’t the girl tell you?” 

“No,” said Larry, flushing darkly. 

His confession recommended him to the other man. 
Even a chauffeur may have a romantic streak con¬ 
cealed about him. “Suppose it was just as you say,” 
he said in friendly manner. “How could I put you 
next to the guys? I wouldn’t know who they were, 
just being picked up on my stand by one of them? 
They wouldn’t come around me afterwards, once they 
paid me.” 

Larry could not deny the reasonableness of this. 
“Well, I realise that,” he said, disappointed. “If I 
can’t find them, will you go on the stand and testify 
when the girl comes up for trial?” 

“What good would that do?” 

“Just this. If you would testify that the man she’s 
accused of robbing was willing to go to any lengths 
afterwards to get her off, it would weaken the case 
against her, see?” 

“I see your point,” said the chauffeur warily. “But 
you’ve just told me you don’t know what s behind it 


212 Officer! 

all. In such a case it seems healthier to me to keep 
out of it. When in doubt lie low. That’s my motto. 
A chauffeur couldn’t have no other. I got to have 
some reason for acting.” 

“You saw the girl that day,” ventured Larry. 

The other young man’s eyes brightened. “You bet 
I saw her! A corker! My God! what nerve for a 
girl! When she made her getaway in the crowd, she 
smiled at me over her shoulder, cool as you please, 
like she was out for an afternoon’s shopping. I ain t 
likely to forget her!” 

“Well . . . there’s your reason,” mumbled Larry. 
“I tell you they’re bent on railroading her.” 

Larry’s eyes were bent on the table. The chauffeur 
was regarding him with a curious mixture of sympathy 
and derision. 

Larry did not see that he was half won. “I take it 
the Englishman offered you so much for turning the 
trick,” he went on. “And a further sum later if you 
kept your mouth shut when questioned by the police. 
Which he subsequently paid. Well, you’ve fulfilled 
your contract with him. You owe him nothing further 
... As for me, I didn’t offer you anything, 
but ...” 

“Can that, fellow!” said the chauffeur quickly. “If 
this is your own private affair, why you’re just a young 
fellow like myself, I wouldn’t take anything off you.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t,” said Larry. 

“I’m with you,” said the chauffeur suddenly. “Can’t 
break me, I guess. I’m no chiny ornament. When¬ 
ever the trial comes up call on me.” 

They shook hands on it. 


213 


Various Leads 

Larry, applying at the offices of the Shane Detective 
Agency, received a new impression of his erstwhile 
adversary’s power and authority. It was the largest 
establishment of its kind in town. There was a whole 
suite of rooms with clerks, stenographers, office boys 
without number. It was not such a simple matter 
to win to the great man’s presence; Larry had to write 
his name on a piece of paper, and interview a secretary 
before he was passed in. He made his way to the 
corner room feeling rather abashed. 

Shane himself, leaning back in a swivel chair and 
turning the inevitable cigar between his lips, was un¬ 
changed. He greeted Larry heartily. 

“Just got back,” he said. 

“You did not catch them!” said Larry. 

Shane took the frayed cigar out of his mouth, and 
gazed at it before replying. “No,” he said. 

“How could you have missed them?” said Larry. 
“I gave you the license number of the car they escaped 
in. They only had a few minutes’ start. And with 
your high-powered car . . .” 

“Oh, I could have taken them,” said Shane coolly. 
“But I was called off.” 

“Called off?” said Larry, staring hard. 

“There was no charge against the Englishman. My 
clients considered that it wasn’t worth the expense.” 

“There was some other reason,” said Larry slowly. 

“Mine not to reason why; mine but to do or die,” 
quoted Shane jocosely. “. . . What’s this I hear about 
your leaving the force?” 

It was not until later that Larry realised how 
neatly Shane changed the subject in order to divert 


214 Officer! 

an awkward question. At the moment Larry fell for 
it. 

“It’s a fact,” he said gloomily. 

“Have you come to me for a job?” 

“Well, I have, and I haven’t,” said Larry. “You 
can help me if you will.” 

“Shoot, my lad.” 

“I got out of the force so that I could get to the 
bottom of the case. There’s a powerful interest de¬ 
termined to railroad the girl.” 

“Um!” said Shane, looking at his cigar. 

“In order to give me some standing as an investi¬ 
gator,” Larry went on, “I thought maybe you’d take 
me on without pay, and furnish me with credentials 
so that I’d be in a position to insist on information.” 

“I’m sorry, lad,” said Shane kindly, “but my clients, 
the Hotelmen’s Association, have called me off. My 
biggest clients as it happens, but that doesn’t cut any 
ice. Under the circumstances I could hardly lend you 
my name to follow up the case, could I?” 

“Oh, I get you,” said Larry bitterly. “The Hotel- 
men’s Association has been fixed.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that,” said Shane 
mildly. 

“I’ll find my man in spite of them,” said Larry, 
turning to go. 

“Wait a minute,” said Shane, with a friendly air. 
“I’m glad you c^me in. I think you’ve got the stuff 
in you. I like you. I’m going to try to prevent you 
from acting foolishly, though being a lad of spirit, 
you probably won’t thank me for it.” 

“What are you getting at?” said Larry suspiciously. 


Various Leads 215 

“I take it this case is a complete mystery to you,” 
said Shane. 

“It is,” said Larry sorely. 

“The obvious explanation has not occurred to you?” 

“No explanation has occurred to me.” 

“To begin with, are you willing to concede that Phil- 
lida Kenley did break into the Englishman’s room at 
the Colebrook?” 

“I concede that.” 

“Good. Next, why did she do it? A nice girl like 
that and obviously not a professional thief.” 

Larry was grateful for these admissions, but he could 
supply no answer to Shane’s question. 

Shane proceeded to answer it himself. Suppose the 
so-called Mr. Felix was a man of wealth and high 
position . . .” 

“I know that he is,” put in Larry. 

“Oh, do you?” said Shane dryly. “It’s more than 
I know. I’m only supposing.” 

“Go on,” said Larry. 

“Suppose the girl knew something discreditable 
about him and had an intention of blackmailing 
him . . .” 

“That’s a lie!” Larry burst out hotly. 

“Just for the sake of argument. Just for the sake 
of argument,” Shane said soothingly. “It would 
provide her with a motive, wouldn’t it? Supposing, I 
mean, that she was after documentary evidence to 
support what she already knew about him. . . . Well 
she didn’t get anything; that we know. But suppose 
that the mere attempt threw a nasty scare into the 
man, who, I agree with you, is one of the meanest 


216 Officer! 

specimens that England ever sent to our shores—you 
can’t blame England for that. That would explain, 
wouldn’t it, why he turned about and worked his 
damnedest to get her off? He would be afraid to 
have the case come into court. But you stepped in 
and scattered his apples. I’m not surprised he wanted 
to shoot you. You locked the girl up in the Tombs 
and matters have passed out of his hands. But sup¬ 
pose he’s paying her well to keep her mouth shut. It 
would appear that she’s doing that very thing. Ve^y 
likely she figures it’s worth it, even at the cost of a short 
sentence to satisfy the injured feelings of the police 
force.” 

There was a cool sureness about this, a devilish 
plausibility that drove Larry frantic. He couldn’t 
refute it; he could only rage. To protest his belief 
in Phillida’s goodness would, he knew, only cause Shane 
to smile in the maddening way of an older man. More¬ 
over he had a horrid suspicion that Shane was only 
putting the case in hypothetical form in order to save 
his feelings. What did Shane knowf Supposing 
Phillida were not on the square . . . ? But Larry 
could go no farther than that in his mind. That meant 
the end of all things for him. 

“It sounds well!” he cried, jumping up. “But it’s 
a lie just the same, and I’ll prove it . . . At any rate 
it’s not the whole truth!” 

Shane patted his shoulder. “You’re a good lad,” he 
said, “and your feelings are a credit to you. But for 
your own sake, don’t let them carry you away. Listen 
to me. I’m old and cooled down. I don’t know who 
this Englishman is, and I don’t know what it is that 


Various Leads 217 

the girl knows against him. I don’t give a dan),n 
either. But I do know that the situation is just about 
what I have laid out to you.” 

“I’ll satisfy myself as to that,” said Larry. 

Shane thrust out his hand. “All right, my lad. 
Don’t do anything foolish. Come see me again.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE IDENTITY OF MR. FELIX 

W HEN Larry got out of Shane’s office and had 
time to think things over coolly, it became evi¬ 
dent to him that Shane, friendly though he undoubt¬ 
edly was, had not been completely candid. Shane in 
his astute way had diverted Larry from asking cer¬ 
tain obvious questions. Something remained unex¬ 
plained. Larry had left Shane hot on the very heels 
of the Englishmen. How could he have been “called 
off” as he said, when Mr. Felix was practically in his 
hands? Some particular thing had happened, and 
Larry resolved to find out what that thing was. 

The car that had rescued the two Englishmen from 
the train had carried a New Jersey license. Larry 
crossed the river to Jersey City, and in the local of¬ 
fice of the Commissioner consulted the state list of 
motor-cars. From it he learned that the car he was 
interested in was owned by one John Carver of Mount 
Elder. 

Mount Elder was a town in Southern New Jersey 
not fifty miles from Atlantic City. The train service 
was inconvenient, and Larry, whose impatience could 
not brook an hour’s delay, parted with some of his 
precious dollars for the hire of a car. By four o’clock 
of the same day he was in Mount Elder. John Car¬ 
ver proved to be a well-known citizen of the place; 
218 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 219 

the first person Larry asked pointed out his hay and 
feed store. 

Within the store Larry had no difficulty in picking 
out the bearded man who had driven the grey car 
that day, and to whose head Mr. Felix had pressed 

“Can I have a few minutes’ private talk with you? 
asked Larry. 

The honest store-keeper with a wondering glance, 
led Larry out into the sun in front of his establish- 

ment. 

Larry wasted no time in beating around the bush. 
“Two days ago you were driving south on the road 
that passes through the town of Cardwell when some¬ 
thing happened ...” 

“Well, what of it?” said the other, with a bothered 

look. 

“This is what happened,” said Larry. Two men 
jumped off a train that was pulling out of Cardwell. 
You happened to be passing in the road, and you 
slowed up, I suppose, to see what was the matter. The 
two men jumped on the running-board of your car, and 
one of them put a gun to your head.” 

“Who are you,” asked the store-keeper guardedly, 
“a newspaper reporter?” 

“Private detective,” said Larry. 

“What do you want of me?” 

“Who were those two men?” 

“I can’t tell you, friend. I never saw them before 

or since.” 

“Well, you can tell me what became of them, any¬ 
way.” 


220 Officer! 

Carver considered a moment, scratching his head. 
Then with a toss of his hand he said: u I’ve got nothing 
to conceal. Nobody pledged me to silence. I guess if 
you’d felt a cold rim of steel pressed to your temple, 
you’d have done the same as me.” 

“Sure!” said Larry. “No blame attaches to you.” 

“They forced me to drive them at top speed about 
five or six miles south on the main road. Then they 
ordered me to turn off on a side road leading in a 
westerly direction. This was a rough road and I 
warned them I had a bad tire, but they made me put 
her to it just the same, and in a couple of miles I blew 
the tire to hell. While I was changing the rim they 
seen a big car coming, and telling me they’d come back 
and kill me if I split on them, they took to cover. The 
big car come up and stopped—one of those Mackinaw 
cars it was, seventy horse power, a hum-dinger . . .” 

“Yes, yes, I know it,” said Larry; “go on!” 

“There was two big men in it beside the driver, and 
I reckoned I was safe enough with them, so I pointed 
out the way the other two had gone. In a little while 
they came back leading them . . .” 

An involuntary exclamation escaped Larry. Here 
was the missing fact he was in search of! 

“. . . And may be that high and mighty Englishman 
didn’t look cheap ! Did my heart good to see it! Well 
the big man who had him by the collar handed me a 
card. On it was printed William B. Shane. He’s the 
big detective, you know, so I thought it was all right. 
He drove away with them. That’s all I know. I 
looked in the papers every day, but there wasn’t any¬ 
thing about it. What’s it all about anyhow?” 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 221 

“I’m not permitted to say anything yet,” said Larry 
prudently. “You keep your eye on the papers, and 
it’ll all come out.” 

“I bet it’s a deep case!” said the Jerseyman inno¬ 
cently. 

“It’s deep all right,” said Larry dryly. 

“The Mackinaw car carried an Atlantic City hire 
tag,” Carver volunteered. 

“I know it,” said Larry. “I’m going on there now.” 

Taking the road again, Larry chewed over the sur¬ 
prising fact he had learned. Anger smouldered in 
him. The obvious explanation, as Shane himself 
might have said, was that Shane had accepted a bribe 
of the Englishman to set him free. But notwith¬ 
standing his anger, Larry rejected that explanation. 
Shane was too big a man, had too much at stake to 
descend to any such business. Moreover, though 
Shane had fooled Larry and outplayed him more than 
once, Larry’s intuition told him that the man was 
square. 

Once again in the shore resort, Larry’s only possible 
course was clearly indicated. Shane had been ac¬ 
companied by Klein, the hotel detective; Klein was ac¬ 
cessible through Maud, the waitress at the Sunset 
restaurant. Larry therefore, having put up his car, 
made his way to the Sunset. He was not without 
some trepidation, for he had treated Maud very badly 
on his previous visit. But the girl was crazy about 
him, he told himself; he ought to be able to bring her 
’round. He had no scruples against using Maud’s 
weakness for himself in furthering his own ends. 


222 Officer! 

Wouldn’t do her any permanent harm, he told him- 
self. 

It was half-past five, that is to say just before the 
evening rush at the Sunset was due to commence. 
When Maud saw Larry coming in she blushed under 
her plentiful rouge. Her brassy assurance failed her 
for the moment; she didn’t know how to treat him. 
Larry smiled at her ingratiatingly. She decided to 
ignore him. He sat down at one of her tables. 

She presently came and stood beside him, silently 
awaiting his order with an air of towering majesty 
that caused Larry to chuckle in his throat. 

“Aw, come off, Maud!” he murmured. 

She continued to stand like the Statue of Liberty, 
only with a tray instead of a torch. Larry gravely 
ordered coffee and crullers. She presently brought it, 
unrelenting. 

“How’s things, Maud?” he asked cheerfully. 

She could no longer contain herself. “You have a 
nerve coming back here!” she said. 

“Only came to see you,” said Larry unblushingly. 

“Huh, likely! I wonder at the face of you! Mak¬ 
ing out to be a simple young fellow on your holiday, 
and you all the time a New York police officer! Get¬ 
ting me to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Klein, and 
then taking advantage of him like that . . . What are 
you laughing at?” 

“I’m laughing at the idea of anybody taking ad¬ 
vantage of Klein. That hard-boiled guy!” 

“Well, it’s true. You ought to be ashamed of your¬ 
self laughing. I can tell you he’s properly sore about 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 223 

“Do you care?” asked Larry, smiling. 

Maud struggled to resist the smile, but her face be¬ 
gan to break up. “I despise you 1” she said. But her 
eyes belied it. 

“I can make you smile,” said Larry impudently. 
“What’s Klein to us? Let’s you and I be friends.” 

“Huh! a fat lot you care about my friendship 1” said 
Maud bitterly. But she was softened. Her eyes 
dwelt on him. 

“Is Klein coming here to dinner to-night?” asked 
Larry. 

“I suppose so. Why?” 

“Get him to take you out later, will you?” 

Maud looked startled. “What for?” 

“I’ll tell you my side of the story,” said Larry, and 
you’ll see that I’ve got something to be sore about, 
too. Klein and I were after the same people. I 
captured one and took her to New York. Shane and 
Klein nabbed the other two, and then set them free 
again. They were rightfully my prisoners. They had 
no call to set them free.” 

“What’s that got to do with Klein taking me out?” 

“I want you to find out from Klein what happened 
that night,” said Larry. “Who were those Uvo men, 
and for what reason did they let them go? 

“You want me to find out!" said Maud, with a toss 
of her straw-coloured coiffure. “I like that! 

“But you’re so clever, Maudie. You can do what 
you like with a man. Specially Klein, the bonehead! 
Haven’t I seen you twist him right round your pinkie!” 

“Just like you think your twisting me round yours 
now 1” 


224 Officer! 

“Not you, Maud. You’re too clever. You know 
men.” 

“Sure, I could get it out of him if I wanted to. But 
why should I? What is there in it for me?” 

“Just to oblige a friend.” 

“Huh! I had a sample of your friendship all right. 
Two dates you broke with me.” 

“Maud, I ain’t myself when I got a serious case on 
my hands. I can’t do a thing I like until I get it 
cleared up.” 

“I won’t promise nothing.” 

“I know I can depend on you. My mind will be 
easy.” 

“Klein would near kill me if he found out.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of that big stiff.” 

“Afraid nothing! . . . Well . . . when’ll I see 
you?” she added, suddenly giving in to his influence, 
and entreating him with her eyes. 

Larry avoided the eyes. “Good girl!” he said care¬ 
lessly. “Klein doesn’t come here to breakfast, does 
he?” 

“No.” 

“I’ll be in early then.” 

That date Larry kept with Maud. Indeed he was 
at the Sunset within five minutes of its opening for 
business next morning. There was no other customer 
in the place, and having brought him his breakfast, 
Maud was free to sit down opposite him and give 
herself up to the doubtful pleasure of gazing at his 
fresh morning face and bright hair. Maud was not 
really deceived by Larry; in her heart she knew she 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 225 

was on the way to making a fool of herself about 
him—but she rather enjoyed doing so. 

Larry saw at once that Maud had something to 
tell him, but he concealed his eagerness to hear it. He 
had adopted certain maxims in dealing with the sex, 
the first of which was: Never let anything on! The 
idea being when you let anything on, it simply made 
them aggravating. So he merely remarked on the good- 
ness of the coffee. 

Maud said resentfully: “I went out with Klein iast 

night.” e . 

“Oh, did you?” said Larry, with an air of surprise. 
“Ahh! you’d like to make out now that it’s nothing 
to you!” said Maud. . . I’ve a good mind not to 

tell you what he told me.” ? 

Larry had no fear of the outcome. “That’s up to 
you,” he said, taking a generous bite of buttered roll. 
“I hate you!” said Maud. 

Larry grinned. . . n 

“If I tell you, you’ll just beat it out of town again, 

she went on. 

“I will if my case requires it,” said Larry. 

“And I’ll never lay eyes on you again.” 

“You can’t lose me, chile,” said Larry. ^ “Soon as 
I’m free, I’m coming back to enjoy myself. 

“Yes, you will!” she said bitterly. 

Nevertheless she told him, as he knew she would. 
“Shane and Klein brought the two Englishmen back 
to Atlantic City,” she began. “In fact they took them 
to the Association offices just across the street here. 
It happened that Roger W. Scudder, the big boss of 
the Hotelmen’s Association, was in town, and Shane 


226 Officer! 

telephoned him to come around. When the principal 
Englishman saw Scudder, he asked to talk with him 
privately. Shane and Klein were not present at their 
talk, but afterwards Scudder told them in a general 
way what had taken place. The Englishman did not 
tell Scudder his right name, but he convinced him that 
he was a big and important man in his own country, 
and that the girl in the case was trying to blackmail 
him . . 

“I heard that before,” interrupted Larry bitterly. 
“It’s all lies!” 

“What do you care?” said Maud, staring. 

Larry realised how narrowly he had escaped be¬ 
traying himself. “Go on,” he said quickly. “You’re 
all right, Maud. There’s not many girls could report 
so straight a tale.” 

“Huh!” said Maud—nevertheless she went on. 
“Well, anyway, Scudder believed it, and he told Shane 
to let the men go.” 

“Fixed, by Gad!” said Larry. 

“It wouldn’t be a question of money passing,” Maud 
pointed out, “for Scudder is worth millions. But these 
big men just naturally hang together.” 

“They hang together all right,” said Larry bitterly. 
“Go on.” 

“Scudder is the big boss, and they had no choice 
but to let the men go, Klein told me.” 

“Did he know what became of them after that?” 
Larry asked eagerly. 

“Say, your heart is set on this case, ain’t it?” said 
Maud suspiciously. 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 227 

“No more on this case than any other,” said Larry. 
“Go on, tell me.” 

“You deserve to get on,” said Maud dryly. 

“You don’t know any more.” 

“Sure, I know more . . . The Englishman was in 
a terrible rush to get back to N’Yawk. The last 
direct train had gone, so he hired a car at Dundy s 
Garage. A fellow named Buckler drove it. Klein 
knows Buckler, and yesterday out of curiosity he asked 
Buckler where he’d taken him and what there was in 
it. Buckler said the Englishman gave him fifty dol¬ 
lars for the trip, and little enough . . .” 

“Never mind that,” said Larry. “Where did he 
put him down?” 

“At the Weehawken Ferry, this side. Wouldn’t let 
Buckler carry him across.” 

“Sure!” said Larry bitterly. “Trust him to cover 
his tracks! Then I’m just exactly where I was when I 
started!” 

But it appeared that Maud had another piece of 
information. “Seems the two of them were getting 
ready to sail for abroad,” she remarked. 

“How did Buckler learn that if they were trying 
to cover their tracks?” 

“By accident. When the young English fellow put 
his hand in his pocket for his wallet to pay Buckler, 
he pulled out an envelope with the wallet. A couple 
of bright-coloured labels fell out of the envelope. 
Buckler picked them up, and handed them back. Cu~ 
nard Line, Saloon Baggage, was printed on them, and 
the name of the ship had been written in: Mauretania* 


228 Officer! 

A groan of disappointment broke from Larry. “The 
Mauretania sailed at noon yesterday!” 

Some hours later Larry entered the famous offices 
which, with their ship’s decorations, their sea-faring 
pictures, were subtly designed to fire the land-lubber 
with the desire of taking a voyage. Larry was feeling 
very insignificant in the big and busy world of affairs. 
A young fellow quite on his own, without any organi¬ 
sation to back him up, how was he to insist on getting 
what he wanted? He half expected to be laughed at 
for his pains. 

He tackled one of the minor clerks first, and asked 
for a copy of the sailing list of the Mauretania, which 
was given him. He did not get any information from 
it, nor had he expected to. Among the notabilities 
who had sailed the day before, appeared the names 
of more than one “Lord,” but which was his lord, he 
had no means of telling. Moreover it was extremely 
unlikely that Mr. Felix had booked under his rightful 
name and title. The young clerk who gave him the 
list looked like an agreeable fellow, and Larry de¬ 
termined to confide in him partly. 

“Look here,” he said, “I’m a private detective . . .” 

The young man appeared interested at once. 

“I have reason to believe that the man I have been 
trailing got away on the Mauretania yesterday. Of 
course I don’t know what name he sailed under, but 
I can furnish a description of him. Who should I go 
to for information?” 

“Go to Mr. Berkeley,” was the prompt reply. “He’s 
the man in charge of the Mauretania bookings. On 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 229 

sailing day it’s his job to be on the dock, and check 
up the passengers as they go aboard.” 

This was better than Larry expected. Much en¬ 
couraged, he sought out Mr. Berkeley. This was a 
much more formidable gentleman. Not exactly a 
great man himself, he was nevertheless accustomed to 
dealing with the great, and shone with a sort of re¬ 
flected greatness. Larry, putting on a bold front,^gave 
him the same formula: “I am a private detective,” etc. 
Mr. Berkeley was not impressed. He looked for cre¬ 
dentials of some sort. Finally he asked Larry point 
blank: 

“Whom do you represent?” 

“My instructions are not to reveal that at the mo¬ 
ment,” replied Larry boldly. 

Mr. Berkeley shrugged. “Then how do I know that 
you’re not wasting my time? There are so many self- 
constituted detectives nowadays.” 

Larry, feeling rather desperate, attempted a last 
bluff. “Of course, if you do not wish to give me the 
information,” he said with an air of unconcern, 111 
just have to report it to my principal. I can only 
ask you.” 

“Oh, well,” said Mr. Berkeley, “ask me what you 
want to know and I’ll answer you if I may properly 
do so.” 

“Did a man answering to this description sail on the 
Mauretania yesterday? Englishman, age about forty- 
five, tall, slender, well set-up. Blonde hair streaked 
with grey; thin in front. Grey eyes set close together. 
A man of position and authority. Has the habit of 
ordering folks about.” 


230 Officer! 

“My dear man,” said Mr. Berkeley, with a scorn¬ 
ful smile, “there were twenty men sailing on the 
Mauretania yesterday, who would answer generally to 
that description.” 

“Wait a minute,” Larry went on. “I can give you 
more. I have reason to believe that this man was ac¬ 
companied by a younger man, a sort of employe or 
servant. The second man is under thirty years old, 
stocky build, full face, fresh colour, rather a starey 
expression.” 

“That doesn’t suggest anything to me,” said Mr. 
Berkeley. “I’m afraid . . .” 

“I’ve heard the younger man address his master as 
‘My Lord,’ ” said Larry, “so I suppose he’s a titled 
man.” 

“Lord Canford was aboard,” said Mr. Berkeley, 
“but he’s an old man. And Viscount Corfe is a mere 
lad ...” 

“My man would not be likely to register under his 
own name—whatever that is,” said Larry. “I sup¬ 
pose you’re pretty well acquainted with the nobility. 
Did you have a lord aboard who was travelling under 
an assumed name?” 

Mr. Berkeley smiled at his simplicity—then he 
glanced at Larry sharply, and a guarded look crept 
into his face. Larry guessed that he had turned up 
something. 

“Ever notice your man’s hands?” asked Mr. Berke¬ 
ley. 

“Sure!” said Larry. “Long, slender, elegant hands. 
He wore a seal ring containing a green stone specked 
with red.” 

Jk 


The Identity of Mr. Felix 231 

“Urn ” said the discreet Mr. Berkeley. 

“You know him!” cried Larry. 

“Whatever I know I’ll keep it to myself until you 
satisfy me you have a right to know it too . . . Do 
you mean to tell me that this gentleman is suspected 
of a crime?” 

“Not exactly of a crime,” said Larry guardedly, 
“But only of acting suspiciously.” 

Mr. Berkeley suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, this 
is rich! rich!” he cried. “This is too good to keep! 
You’re an amateur detective, I guess. Why, the gen¬ 
tleman you refer to is one of the greatest men in Eng¬ 
land. There’s no secrecy about his movements. He 
went aboard under an assumed name merely to avoid 
the reporters. Very natural under the circumstances.” 

“But who is he?” cried Larry. 

“Well, since he’s gone I see no reason why I 
shouldn’t tell you. It’s the new Earl of Hampshire.” 

Larry looked at the other man, slightly dazed. “The 
circumstances, you say,” he stammered. “What cir¬ 
cumstances?” 

“The Earl is taking the body of his cousin, the late 
Earl, back to England.” 

“The late Earl?” 

“Yes. He died in New York recently. I understand 
that he had been living in this country for some years 
incognito.” 

Larry struggled to understand. “But . . . but if 
this one, the new Earl, as you say, if he’s just come into 
the title, how is he so soon one of the greatest men in 
England?” 

“Oh, for years as Mr. Alastair Savile-Down he’s 


232 Officer! 

been a well-known figure. Very wealthy man; inter¬ 
ested in many companies. Since his accession to the 
title he has received an offer by cable of the chairman¬ 
ship of the Bloomsbury, Joint-Stock and Leveson’s 
Bank, one of the greatest financial plums in England.” 

Larry felt a good deal like a non-swimmer getting 
out of his depth. 

“Tell me what it is you suspected him of,” said Mr. 
Berkeley, with ill-concealed merriment. 

“If there’s nothing in it,” said Larry prudently, “I’d 
better keep it to myself.” 

“Oh, if you must,” said Mr. Berkeley, with a shrug. 
“It would make a good story.” 

“Much obliged to you for your information,” said 
Larry. Turning abruptly, he all but fled from the 
building. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


phillida’s hand is forced 

^TOW that he was in possession of the astonishing 
fact, Larry scarcely knew what to do with it. 
It only tended to bear out Shane’s theory that Phil- 
lida was a common blackmailer, and the weight at 
Larry’s breast became heavier and heavier. He still 
struggled against it; there must be some other explana¬ 
tion he told himself. But how was he to set about ob¬ 
taining it? A trip to England was out of the question. 
Supposing he took the next ship and got the English¬ 
man by the throat and shook the truth out of him— 
Phillida’s trial would have come and gone before he 
could get back to New York. 

Larry walked the steaming pavements oblivious to 
his direction. In his confusion and distress his 
thoughts turned irresistibly to Phillida herself. If he 
could only reassure his breast by a sight of that high 
look of hers which forbade any suspicion of mean¬ 
ness in connection with her. Or if he could sit beside 
her again, holding her hand tight, assured that they 
loved each other, and forgetting the ugly circumstances 
that divided them. 

The desire to be with her became an intolerable 
ache. He had vowed to himself that he would not 
return to the prison until he had discovered the whole 
truth, or until Phillida sent for him, but in spite of 
himself, his legs began to carry him in that direction. 

233 


234 Officer! 


Reaching City Hall Park, a covert glance at the clock 
told him that he had just time for a brief interview 
before visiting hours were over, and he quickened his 
steps. Up to the very door of the prison he kept deny¬ 
ing to himself that he was going there at all. 

At the door the inward struggle recommenced. Here 
he was crawling back in the very way he had told her 
he would never do. She might be all right; he would 
not yet concede that she had done any wrong; but she 
was acting wrongly, and if he gave in to her it would 
confirm her in her wrongness, and matters would never 
come straight between them. He walked on past the 
door to give himself more time to think it out. 

He went to the corner and came back again, still no 
nearer a decision. As he approached the door a second 
time a familiar figure emerged, the sight of which gave 
his thoughts a sharp turn. It was Tina, the elvish lit¬ 
tle girl he had danced with at the Spotted Pup. She 
had been visiting Phillida of course. Perhaps from 
her he could learn something. His eyes flew to her 
hands. But they were empty. She was not bringing 
any letters out. 

He approached her with his heart in his mouth. If 
she identified him as Harker he was prepared to be 
flayed by her scorn. He put on the wooden expression 
with which he instinctively defended himself against 
women, and raised his hat. 

“Hello 1” said Tina, her face breaking up into her 


own impudent grin—the pretty little monkey l ‘ I 
never expected to see you again 1” 

A thankful breath escaped Larry. She did not know 
him! “Just out of jail ?” he asked facetiously. 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 235 

“Sure. Shop-lifting. Golly! it’s good to see the 
well-known sky again! . . . What are you doing in 
this bad neighbourhood?” 

“My regular beat,” said Larry glibly. “I work in 
Park Row.” 

He turned with her, and they walked up town. 

“You’re a nice one!” she said. “Leaving me flat at 
Tim Dorlon’s that night.” 

“Nice one yourself!” retorted Larry. “You took 
me there and shook me, while you went off with an¬ 
other man. I got sore and went home.” 

“I wish I could believe you!” she said derisively. 
“You’re an old hand!” 

“Old hand at what?” 

“At the game of con. You’re altogether too good- 
looking. You shouldn’t be let loose.” 

“Annex me then,” said Larry. 

In this wise they chaffed each other for the space 
of a block or two. Finally Larry felt it safe to say 
with an offhand air 

“On the level, what were you doing in the hoose- 
gow? I’m curious.” 

“Visiting a friend,” said Tina, in her thoughtless 
fashion. 

“You should be more careful whom you associate 
with,” said Larry facetiously. 

“I only wish I were half as good as the girl behind 
the bars,” said Tina. “Do you remember that night 
we were talking about Phillida Kenley? It’s her. If 
you read the papers, you must have seen that she was 
finally taken and brought back.” 

“I noticed something about it,” said Larry. 


236 Officer! 

“I visit her every afternoon,” Tina went on. I 
have been deputed to do so by the other girls, because 
my name has never been connected with hers in the 
papers. Her intimate friends are dogged by the police 
and the reporters.” 

“What are the rights of that case anyhow?” asked 
Larry carelessly. 

“I don’t know,” said Tina. “Phil has never told 
me anything, and I wouldn’t question her, because it 
would look as if I doubted her. She’s absolutely the 
finest girl I ever knew, and that’s enough for me. ’ 

Larry was disappointed in this reply, but his heart 
was grateful to the loyal little friend. “You’re a good 
sort!” he said impulsively. 

Tina glanced at him through her lashes. “Nice 
man!” she said softly. “If you’d only be natural 
oftener! . . . You think you’ve got to keep your guard 
up against us, don’t you? Perpetual sparring-match. 
Oh, itls fun, but you never get anywhere.” 

Larry, who had no intention of letting down his 
guard before any woman in the world save one, made 
haste to turn it ofi by saying: “A man does well to 
keep up his guard against you!” 

They came to a subway entrance and paused. Tina 
said: “I guess you didn’t care much for the Spotted 
Pup. You’ve never been back since.” 

“I did like it,” protested Larry. “I’ve been out of 
town.” 

“Got anything on for to-night?” she asked, with a 
highly indifferent air. 

Larry doubted his ability to keep up the rattle for 
an entire evening. Besides there was nothing to be 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 237 

gained from it. “Yes, I have,” he said with a regret¬ 
ful air. “Something I can’t get out of.” 

“We women work you to death, don’t we?” she said, 
with a laugh. “I suppose you have a time keeping us 
separate.” 

“You get me wrong,” said Larry. 

“Do you see any green in my eye, old dear?” 

She waited, evidently expecting him to make a date 
for another meeting, but it seemed to Larry that ac¬ 
cidental meetings would be safer for the present. So 
he merely said: “I’ll turn up at the Spotted Pup in a 
night or two, on the level.” 

A shade of disappointment crossed her expressive 
little face. “Well, I’ll be waiting for you with my 
ears pinned back and my hair in a braid,” she said 
airily, and dived into the subway. 

The next day was Friday. At the same hour of the 
afternoon Larry was hanging about the entrance of the 
prison on Centre Street. The instant Tina emerged 
he realised that she had been warned against him. Her 
eyes flew here and there, looking for him and not want¬ 
ing to find him. When they spotted him, she hesitated 
and changed colour. No doubt she had told Phillida 
of their encounter the day before, and the disclosure 
had come that way. She recovered herself almost im¬ 
mediately and came towards him with her usual smile. 

“Hello!” said Larry. “I was hoping you’d be com¬ 
ing out about this time.” 

“Always Johnny-on-the-spot!” she retorted with 
her charming derisive grin, but a little breathlessly. 
Clearly she was frightened. 


238 Officer! 

They turned up town together as before. The im¬ 
pulsive Tina was but an indifferent dissembler. She 
was very nervous, and she could not keep the shake out 
of her voice. Her fright gave Larry cause for 
thought. There was no reason why she should be 
frightened by the mere meeting with ex-officer Harker. 
On the contrary the adventurous little monkey might 
be supposed to enjoy it. There must be some special 
reason for it. Larry suspected that she had on her the 
very letter he was so keen to have a glimpse of, and 
his heart began to beat. As he had always played a 
part with Tina his face showed her no change. 

“You’re a regular Tombs angel,” he said. 

“Not much of an angel, me,” said Tina, with one of 
her pretty monkey faces. “It’s not my graft.” 

“What is your graft?” 

“Bottle-washer at the Spotted Pup.” 

During a silence, Larry sized her up out of the tail 
of his eye. She was carrying nothing but a tiny coin 
purse, too small to conceal a letter. The simple slip 
of a dress she had on suggested no obvious places of 
concealment, but Larry knew, of course, that women 
had their own hiding-places. 

Tina could not bear silences. “You said you’d been 
away,” she said, with rather a panicky air. “Where 
were you?” 

“Oh, just a business trip,” answered Larry at ran¬ 
dom. “Up to Boston.” He had never been to Bos¬ 
ton in his life.* 

“Don’t you love Boston?” 

“Scarcely noticed it. Too busy.” 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 239 

“Didn’t you go to see the Sargent murals in the 
Public Library?” 

“What are they?” 

“Barbarian!” 

“I don’t care. You said you liked me that way. 

“Oh, I like you. But you’re impossible!” 

It was a piquant situation; each well aware of what 
was passing in the other’s mind, and each sedulously 
making believe that nothing was changed since the 
day before. When they came to the subway entrance 
they paused as before. 

“I’m free for the rest of the day,” remarked Larry. 

“Sorry, I’m not,” said Tina dryly. 

“Where away?” asked Larry. 

“I like your cheek!” 

“Oh, of course, if you have secrets to conceal . . .” 

“That hasn’t got anything to do with your cheek in 
asking ... If you must know, the girls at the Spotted 
Pup are short of help and I promised to help with the 
dinner to-night.” 

This was obviously said on the spur of the moment 
and Larry thought: She’s seeking safety among her 
friends. He said: “Can’t I help, too?” 

“Mercy! Do you think they’d let a man inside their 
kitchen?” 

“Well, I’ll take you to the door, anyway.” 

“I suppose I can’t prevent you, she said, making 
a face. 

In the clattering subway train it was not possible to 
do much in the way of repartee. Larry’s eyes wan¬ 
dered over Tina’s person, speculating on where the 


240 Officer! 

letter was hidden, while Tina bit her lip, and her lit¬ 
tle hands trembled. All the while both were making 
believe there was nothing the matter. Through the 
streets between the Astor Place station and Sheridan 
Square they kept up the rattle incessantly. 

“When you’re not washing bottles are you an artist 
like the rest of them?” 

“Yes, I design the labels for lobster cans.” 

“I’ve noticed they’re highly coloured.” 

“Oh, I know a lobster when I see one.” 

And so on. And so on. Larry was filled with a 
reluctant admiration for his little companion. She was 
scared, but she was game. 

At the corner just before reaching the Spotted Pup 
there was a letter box. Tina glanced at it involuntarily 
as they passed, and Larry’s hawk eye did not fail to 
mark that glance. 

At the door of the restaurant Larry asked: “Can’t 
I wait inside till dinner’s ready?” 

Tina was obviously relieved by the nearness of suc¬ 
cour. “Two hours?” she asked mockingly. “No, really 
you can’t,” she added firmly. “It would queer me with 
the girls. You may not think so, but running an eat¬ 
ing-house is a serious job.” 

“Well, I’ll be back at six,” said Larry, raising his 
hat. 

Larry turned the corner where the letter box stood, 
and came to a stop. He shrewdly suspected that Tina 
would not know a moment’s peace until she got that 
letter posted. This was the nearest box. At any rate 
it was worth waiting a while to see. 

On the corner there was a confectionary store with 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 241 

a show window on each side of the angle. Looking 
obliquely through the two windows, Larry commanded 
the view of a few yards along the pavement in the 
direction of the Spotted Pup without exposing himself 
unduly. If Tina did come back he would at least have 
time to step back out of sight. Here he waited, af¬ 
fecting to study the dainties set forth in the show win¬ 
dow; Scotch kisses, Vienna cups, Creole pralines, di¬ 
vine divinity, etc., etc. 

Even before he could see her, Larry was warned of 
the approach of Tina by a double patter of quick feet. 
She brought along one of the other girls for protec¬ 
tion. Tina had a letter or letters in her hand. Within 
half a dozen yards of the corner, the two girls in their 
nervousness broke into a run. Larry ran too. 

The three of them collided violently in front of the 
letter box. The letters—there were two of them, flew 
out of Tina’s hand. The two girls were dazed by the 
suddenness of the impact. Larry pounced on the let¬ 
ters where they fell. The first was addressed to Phil¬ 
lida’s mother in Barnstaple; the second—there was no 
need for Larry to copy out that address: 

Mrs. Doreen Innes, 

Elbow Creek Sanitarium 
Silver City, 

New Mexico 

The two girls stood there helplessly. Tears had 
sprung into Tina’s eyes. A passer-by or two stopped 
to gape. Larry raised his hat. 

“So sorry,” he said, with a hard smile. “Awfully 


242 Officer! 

clumsy of me.” He indicated the letter box. “May 
I?” 

No sign from the two. 

Larry posted the letters. 

Tina then began to abuse him tremulously. “You 
brute! . . . Oh, you brute ... !” 

The other girl—it was Arline Teague, pulled at her 
arm. “Hush! Hush!” she whispered. “That does 
no good now. Come away. We must let her know.” 

They started back, both weeping. Larry felt a good 
deal like the brute she had called him, but he was filled 
with a savage exultation, too. After all they had not 
been able to balk his will, the whole parcel of girls. 
He looked around for a taxicab. 

He gave the address of his boarding-house. He 
never hesitated as to his course of action. On the way 
he stopped the cab at a Broadway ticket-office, and en¬ 
quired about trains. There was one at six which 
carried cars for the Southwest. It was useless for 
him to write or telegraph to Doreen; he must go in 
person. He had been advised that Phillida’s trial 
would come up in about ten days. Time enough to go 
and come, with a day or two to spare. Very likely they 
would telegraph to Doreen to put her on her guard 
against him. But if he got hold of her, she would have 
to speak. 

In his room Larry packed a bag, and counted his 
money. He told his landlady he would be away for 
a week, and set off for the station, dawdling along the 
streets to kill time. His breast was strangely uneasy; 
an instinct whispered to him that he was doing the 
wrong thing; that it was dangerous to go counter to 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 243 

Phillida’s wishes in this manner. But he would not lis¬ 
ten to it; he could not listen. No other course of ac¬ 
tion was possible to a man in his state of mind. 

He bought a ticket, and loafed about the great con¬ 
course until the sign was put up for his train. As he 
approached the gates, he perceived Tina waiting there, 
scanning all who passed through. He hardened him¬ 
self, and kept on. If she wanted to make a scene, all 
right, he was prepared to see it through. 

When the girl caught sight of him she came run¬ 
ning. All her pretty derisive ways were forgotten, her 
anger too. Her face was pale, her glance direct and 
sombre with anxiety. Larry set his face like stone. 
He did not intend to be interfered with. 

“I’m so glad ... so glad!” she breathed thank¬ 
fully. “They wouldn’t let me see Phillida. I sent her 
in a note. She sent this back . . . for you, if I could 
find you!” 

Larry took it with a fast beating heart. It was very 
brief, a mere scrawl: 

“My dear, my dear: 

If you get this, come to me before you take any ac¬ 
tion. I have no pride left. I beg it of you. I have 
obtained permission for you to see me for a few min¬ 
utes, if you come any time before lights out to-night.” 

“Phillida.” 

A great gush of joy burst up in Larry’s breast. He 
had the feeling that the note had saved him from 
making a fatal mistake. There was a singing inside 
him. She had sent for him! He was released from 


244 Officer! 

his vow. She had sacrificed her pride, dear, generous 
heart! He was going to see her, see her! What else 
in the world mattered? 

Naturally he did not intend to let Tina read all this 
in his face, and it remained perfectly wooden. The 
girl’s eyes were fastened on it in suspense. 

“If you care for her,” she murmured, “how can you 
hurt her so?” 

Larry scowled at her in quick resentment. What 
was it to her how he felt towards Phillida, or Phillida 
towards him? “I’ll go down to the prison,” he said 
with a great air of magnanimity—while the heart was 
bounding in his breast. 

Tina did not mind his manner. A long breath of 
relief escaped her. She said nothing. 

She accompanied Larry to the cab-stand, and heard 
him give the order to drive to the City prison. With 
a firm shake of the head she refused to go with him. 

“I’ve done all I can now,” she said. 

In the prison Larry was conducted up many stairs, 
and down a long, stone-paved corridor to the door of 
Phillida’s cell. The entire front of the cell was formed 
of thick iron bars, the walls were of smoothed stone. 
Most dreadful was the suggestion that the inmates 
were always by night or day on exhibition . To actually 
see Phillida behind those bars produced an emotional 
crisis in Larry, though he was prepared for the sight. 
His breast was intolerably wrenched, and a madness 
broke loose in his brain, a lust to throw down the 
wicked place, stone upon stone. 

At the first sound of his steps Phillida had sprung 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 245 


up, wild with eagerness, and was gripping the bars and 
pressing her face between, as in the pictures one had 
so often seen. Phillida’s face, and her magical eyes! 
The sight turned him sick at heart. 

At the sight of him a radiance of joy showed in her 
eyes. “Larry! . . . Thank God!” she murmured. 

She thrust her hands through the bars. Larry seized 
them, and pressed them hard against his cheek. He 
was quite incapable of speaking. The keeper lounged 
against the wall of the corridor, and picked his teeth 
with a great air of indifference. Perhaps it masked a 
secret compassion. Who knows? 

When they found their tongues Phillida whispered: 
“Larry, what were you going to do?” 

“I was going out to Silver City,” he muttered dog¬ 
gedly, feeling deeply ashamed, without in the least 
knowing why he should feel ashamed. 

“Oh, Larry! If I had not been able to stop you! 
. . . Doreen knows nothing of all this. She doesn’t 
know I am locked up. She’s just at the fork of the 
roads; life in one direction, death in the other. If you 
had blurted out the truth to her, what chance would she 
have had? She would have rushed right back to New 
York. It would have killed her.” 

It always irritated Larry to have Doreen’s feeble 
state of health brought up. “I couldn’t have acted 
any differently,” he muttered doggedly. “If I had done 
nothing, I would have gone out of my mind.” 

“Can’t you trust me?” whispered Phillida. “This 
is my very last appeal!” 

“Trust you for what?” he said. “See you go to 
States prison? This is bad enough. That would kill 


246 Officer! 

me. Doreen’s got to take her chance with the rest of 
us. Tell me the truth and maybe I can find a way.” 

“There is no way but the one I have chosen,” said 
Phillida wearily. “I’ve been over it in my mind often 
enough.” 

“But States prison . . . !” said Larry. 

“It would not be for long. It would do me no real 
harm . . 

“How about me? ... Do you think I could sit 
quiet while you are there? I’ll never forget this, never! 

. . . You’re mine! mine! I will not let them take you 
from me! The very thought of it makes me see red. 
I’d do something desperate. . . .” 

“Larry! . . . Larry! . . . Larry! Quiet, my 
dear! You’re such a boy!” 

“I don’t know what I am. But I know how much I 
can stand. These locks and bars . . . Do you know 
what they’re saying? They’re saying you’re just a 
common blackmailer. They’re saying that you’ve got 
something on the Earl of Hampshire, and he’s paying 
you to keep your mouth shut!” 

Phillida snatched her hands free, and retreated into 
her cell. “How . . . how did you learn his name?” 
she gasped. 

“I told you I’d find out, and I did find out,” said 
Larry doggedly. 

“Have you seen him?” 

“No. He got away too quick.” 

“Is his name generally known?” she asked, breath¬ 
less with apprehension. 

“Nobody knows it but me.” 


Phillida’s Hand Is Forced 247 

She quieted down. “Well ... in a way it’s true,” 
she said. 

“Phillida!” he whispered in a voice sharp with pain. 
“I threw it back in their faces. ... I staked every¬ 
thing on you!” 

“And do you feel that you’ve lost?” she asked, with 
her chin up. “Even supposing I am technically, a 
blackmailer, does it make any difference to you?” 

“I couldn’t help loving you,” he groaned, “if that’s 
what you mean. But why can’t you let me love you 
with a quiet breast?” 

This simple speech went direct to Phillida’s heart. 
Her hands came swiftly back through the bars to com¬ 
fort him. “Ah, my dear! my dear!” she whispered. 
“Forgive me! I torment you because you are strong 
and able to bear it. It must be either you or Doreen. 
She has nobody but me!” 

Doreen again! She stuck in Larry’s crop. “Healthy 
people have got to be considered too,” he said, scowl¬ 
ing. “It’s not right that two healthy people should 
be destroyed for the sake of a sick one.” 

“We won’t be destroyed,” said Phillida. “It’s only 
for a little while. . . .” 

“Ah, don’t begin that again,” said Larry. “I can 
only stand so much. There’s the trial to come. I 
could not sit silent in court and let them convict you. 
I’ll have to tell what I know.” 

“Is that your last word?” she asked. But she did 
not draw away from him. 

“My last word,” he said. “It’s just as well to have 
it understood.” 


248 Officer! 

Phillida sighed, and clung to him closer. Evidently 
she had come to a decision. “Then I’ll have to tell 
you the whole story,” she said. “. . . I don’t know 
what you’ll do. I can only pray that you won’t fail 
me ... If you fail me, I suppose I’ll love you still. 
But it would be a spoilt love. There could never any¬ 
thing come of it!” 

The keeper stirred and cleared his throat. 

“Quick!” said Larry. “They only gave me ten 
minutes.” 

“It’s a long story,” she objected, “and you must 
hear the whole of it. I cannot risk the danger of a 
misunderstanding; I’ll write it out in my cell to-night, 
and mail it to you.” 

“Time’s up, Miss,” said the keeper. 

Phillida pressed her face between the bars. “Kiss 
me,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter about him. 
. . . Ah, my dear, I love you so! . . . When you read 
my letter stand by me!” 

Larry could not speak. He went away blindly. 


CHAPTER XIX 


phillida’s story 

“T CAME to New York six years ago to study art. 

I was seventeen years old; shy, self-willed, full of 
notions; a difficult girl. Nobody could tell me any¬ 
thing. I only learned things by butting my head 
against them. Most people look back, or make be¬ 
lieve to look back on their childhood as the happiest 
period of their life. Not me. I was wretched until 
I began to find myself. Most of all I longed for 
friends, but I was too self-conscious to make friends. 
When I most wished to give myself, something forced 
me to draw back. So, of course, other girls considered 
me supercilious, cold and uninteresting. 

“I tell you all this so you may judge of the effect 
that Doreen Forbes had on me. But I cannot pos¬ 
sibly make you realise what she was like in those days. 
A sort of sprite not quite mortal; full of unexpected¬ 
ness and charm; Mustard-seed was the name we had 
for her. As spontaneous and gay as a bird. When I 
think of the change in her it makes me rage at life, 
which seems bound to destroy the delicate and lovely 
spirits, leaving only the tough ones to survive. 

“Doreen picked me up and took possession of me. 
I should never have had the courage to make overtures 
to her. My first friend and my dearest! In her I 
found my release. We were exact opposites, you see. 

249 


250 Officer! 

She was in the clouds while I grovelled. I wonder if it 
is possible for a man to understand what we were to 
each other. Young men become firm friends, I know, 
but it seems different. They never appear to care 
much for each other. Or if they do they hide it. 

We both attended the Art Students’ League. Both 
of us had to get along on starvation allowances, but 
we didn’t mind that. Life was one grand lark. Life 
would have been a lark for anybody with Doreen. We 
shared a barn of an attic on Fourteenth Street, cooked 
for ourselves, and stalled off the rent collector until we 
owed him so much he couldn’t afford to put us out. 
Doreen and I made a grand combination. She sup¬ 
plied the gaiety and zest, and I the motive power. She 
is really older than I, but I was the shock absorber. 
She was my child as well as my friend, and on that 
account I loved her even more than she loved me. 

“All the love I had for her did not enable me to 
prevent her from making a ghastly mess of her life. 
She met the man we knew as Aleck Innes at a studio 
party. A man almost double her age who seemed 
younger. He was of the same general type as his 
cousin, now the Earl of Hampshire, but a handsomer 
man with great charm of manner when he chose to 
exert it. I could appreciate his charm, but I disliked 
him from the first, he was such a useless cumberer of 
the earth. He was in receipt of an allowance from 
England, and he literally did nothing but eat and sleep 
and kill time until it was time to eat and sleep again. 
This seemed dreadful to me, there is so much to do 
with life. When I saw what was likely to happen my 


Phillida’s Story 251 

dislike of him became hatred. This destroyed what in¬ 
fluence I had left with Doreen. 

“With his aristocratic air, his white teeth and his 
careless good humour, he dazzled my poor Doreen. 
Little by little I began to see that his seeming good 
humour was no more than callousness. Through and 
through he was corrupt. After one attempt to open 
Doreen’s eyes, which almost turned her into my enemy, 
I was forced to keep my mouth shut and look on while 
she destroyed herself. I cannot go into detail about 
this time. To make a long story short, they went off 
one day and got married. 

“It was not long before she began to realise the na¬ 
ture of her mistake. I almost lost her entirely then, 
because she could not confess it to me, who had warned 
her. There could be no confidences between us, never¬ 
theless we clung to each other in a pitiful sort of way, 
and made pretences. She never told me anything, but 
I could see for myself, of course, and deduce. Once 
when I could not bear it any longer, I urged her to 
leave him. She merely shook her head. The pain of 
forcing the truth out into the open between us was so 
great that for weeks after that I did not see her. So, 
of course, I never dared speak again. 

“The worst of a man like that is, he is a continuous 
drain upon whoever has to live with him. Aleck sim¬ 
ply existed on Doreen’s vitality, and quickly used it up. 
I had to see my friend progressively lose all her zest 
in life and her fairylike gaiety. Aleck hated me like 
poison, and I could not go to their place. But some¬ 
times, not often, Doreen would come to me, white- 


252 Officer! 

faced and mute, and while my heart was breaking, I 
would make out not to notice anything, while I tried 
to replenish her failing vitality from my own. 

“Aleck had two hundred dollars a month from Eng¬ 
land, which ought to have been enough to keep them 
comfortably—to us poor art-students it seemed like a 
fortune; but most of it went to supply his private vices. 
He drank too much, and he took drugs, but it was a 
long time before I learned this. They were always in 
money difficulties; always owing a board bill, and con¬ 
tinually being put to humiliating shifts to move from 
one place to another, without having their effects 
seized. It was Doreen, of course, who was forced to 
do the ugly contriving. 

“This has been going on for four years, remember. 
Fortunately they never had a child. Aleck did not 
positively ill-treat her, but physical cruelty would have 
been easier to bear than the spiritual humiliations that 
I suspected she suffered at his hands. Not knowing 
anything, I was driven wild by what I suspected. But 
always I had to keep my mouth shut. Yet in his way 
Aleck loved Doreen. But the love of a creature like 
that is a curse. 

“Recently Aleck began to show tubercular symp¬ 
toms. He aged all at once and lost the last vestiges of 
his ‘charm.’ A loathsome sight! During the last 
few months he failed very quickly. While they were 
living at Miss Corkerell’s he was forced to take to his 
bed. It was then that his craving for drugs could no 
longer be hidden. Doreen could not always procure 
what he required, and he would have wild fits of rav¬ 
ing. 


253 


Phillida’s Story 

“It was Miss Corkerell who told me this—and other 
things that I already suspected. A kind soul! Any¬ 
body else would have put them out. They were in 
her debt over a hundred dollars at the end. The 
climax to the horror was reached when I discovered by 
unmistakable signs that my Doreen had become in¬ 
fected with tuberculosis. I will not dwell on what I 
felt. 

“One day in a lucid interval Aleck, in a fit of contri¬ 
tion, told Doreen that he had always deceived her as 
to his real name. He was born Aleck Savile-Down he 
said, and since the death of his uncle, the Fifth Earl, 
three years ago, he had been rightfully the Earl of 
Hampshire. He had never laid claim to the honours, 
he said, because years before he had signed over his 
interest in the estates to his cousin Alastair Savile- 
Down, the next in succession, and he had not the where¬ 
withal to support the title. 

“The situation is a complicated one, and I am not 
sure that I can make it clear to you. Briefly, it ap¬ 
pears that Aleck, having got himself hopelessly in¬ 
volved with money lenders in his wild youth, went to 
Alastair for assistance. Alastair, in order to save the 
estates for himself and his children, had forced Aleck 
to sign over his interest in them, in return for an an¬ 
nuity to be paid during Aleck’s lifetime. That was 
where the two hundred dollars a month came from. 
Aleck further bound himself never to marry. That 
was one reason, perhaps, why he had never claimed 
the title. 

“Alastair, Aleck said, was a cold and prudent Shy- 
lock, the reverse of himself. Alastair had always been 


254 Officer! 

well-to-do, and when the Hampshire estates came into 
his possession three years ago, he used them as a basis 
upon which to found a great fortune. He has become 
one of the financial powers of England. 

“I put this down here in its proper place in my story, 
but I did not learn it until some time later. When 
Doreen heard it from her husband, she immediately, 
in her innocence and simplicity, wrote to Alastair Sa- 
vile-Down, without letting her husband know. She told 
him that his cousin Aleck was sick in New York and 
likely to die. She received no answer to her letter. 
One can imagine the cunning Alastair’s dismay upon 
learning that Aleck had a wife, and possibly a son as 
well, who would cut him out of the title. The title 
was dearer to Alastair than all his wealth. It is an 
old and honourable title, by the way, though it has not 
been honoured in its recent holders. 

“Alastair did not answer Doreen’s letter, but he 
must have taken the first ship to New York, and no 
doubt he thoroughly investigated the situation of 
Aleck and his wife, before he made himself known. 

“On a day which would be some three weeks after 
Doreen had written her letter, while she was out of the 
boarding-house (Alastair, of course, had it watched) 
somebody called up Aleck on the phone. Aleck was in 
bed, but he was not absolutely helpless; he was able 
to go to the phone. Miss Corkerell who listened, 
was not able to make anything out of the one-sided 
conversation that ensued. Most of the talking was 
done by the person on the other end. As a result of 
that conversation, Aleck dressed himself and slipped 
out of the house unobserved. One can easily guess the 


Phillida’s Story 255 

promises of unlimited drugs, etc., that were held out 
to him if he would abandon his wife. 

“Aleck called Doreen up some hours later, and coolly 
told her not to bother; that he was all right and she’d 
never see him again. When she asked for particulars, 
he merely hung up the receiver. It was then that 
Doreen in her distress and anxiety, came to me with 
the whole story. She had not connected Aleck’s dis¬ 
appearance with her letter to Alastair, but I did. I 
could not feel any grief at the loss of the miserable 
Aleck, but it made me furiously indignant that Doreen, 
sick and penniless as she was, had been left absolutely 
flat by that precious pair. 

“I went to the office of the British consul, but was 
unable to learn anything there beyond the fact that 
Mr. Alastair Savile-Down was a great man in his own 
country. They had no information of his having come 
to America. However, I didn’t suppose that he would 
be publishing the fact broadcast. Three days later I 
went back again, and on this visit I learned the sur¬ 
prising fact that the Earl of Hampshire had died in 
New York the day before, and that Mr. Alastair Sa¬ 
vile-Down, his cousin and successor, had applied to 
the consul for a permit to take the body back to Eng¬ 
land. Alastair had given his address as the Hotel 
Madagascar. 

“Doreen immediately went to the Madagascar to 
interview Alastair Savile-Down, or the new Earl, as he 
now was. I accompanied her to the hotel, but waited 
downstairs, since it was really none of my business. 
But I wish I had gone up with her. You have seen the 
man; you know what he is. When he saw that in my 


256 Officer! 

poor Doreen he had only a helpless, gentle, broken 
girl to deal with, he undertook to repudiate her alto¬ 
gether. He denied ever having received a letter from 
her. He claimed that he had picked up his cousin by 
accident, sick in the street. He denied all knowledge 
of Aleck’s ever having been married. He showed her 
the agreement by which Aleck had bound himself not to 
marry, and undertook to tell Doreen that this would 
invalidate a marriage, had any taken place. Which is 
ridiculous. He told her that even if she were Aleck’s 
wife, which he did not believe, under the law of Eng¬ 
land she had not a shadow of a claim on the Hamp¬ 
shire estates. This may be true; I don’t know. He in¬ 
vited her to prove that she was Aleck Savile-Down’s 
wife. This was manifestly impossible for her to do, 
since she had married him under an assumed name, 
and had no proof except what Aleck had told her, and 
Aleck’s lips were now sealed forever. 

“There is no doubt in my mind but that Alastair 
hastened Aleck’s end, whether by drugs or otherwise. 
The latter’s death came too pat to his cousin’s designs 
to be natural. This would explain Alastair’s extreme 
terror later. But it is not part of my story, nor am I 
a public prosecutor. It would be useless to try to 
bring the crime home to Alastair. There were no wit¬ 
nesses you may be sure, and Aleck was too far gone 
anyway. 

“My poor Doreen returned to me from that inter¬ 
view absolutely crushed in spirit. When I learned 
what had taken place, I just about flew off the handle. 
I was sick with rage. I could have killed that devilish 
cold-blooded Englishman, and felt that I was doing a 


257 


Phillida’s Story 

righteous act. But that wouldn’t have helped Doreen 
any. I tried to see him at the Madagascar, but he kept 
out of my way. He had an obsequious parasite as a 
sort of body-guard. You have seen him too. That 
night he changed his hotel. 

“I succeeded in tracing him to the Colebrook where 
he registered as Mr. Felix. I did not attempt to see 
him there, as I was convinced it would be useless. 
When I discovered that he had left his satellite at the 
Madagascar, I formed another plan, a desperate plan. 
No doubt it was foolish, but I am afraid I would do 
the same thing over again. I did not say a word to 
Doreen of what I was going to do. 

“You must take all the circumstances into account 
before you judge me. Doreen had lately been to a 
clinic, where she had been told that the only chance 
of saving her life lay in the dry climate of Arizona or 
New Mexico. But she must go at once . She had no 
money. I had no money, nor any way of obtaining 
any. On the other hand there was the rich English¬ 
man who had founded his fortune on her husband’s 
estates, and who had repudiated her simply because he 
saw his way clear to saving the few hundred dollars 
necessary to restore her to life. It was not a situation 
in which one could be cold-blooded or prudent. You 
are not cold-blooded, my dear. Do not condemn me t 

“Furthermore we had no time for prudent measures. 
The man was returning to England by the first fast 
ship. Ignorant as I was of the law, I suspected that 
Doreen would never be able to prove in court that she 
was the wife of Aleck Savile-Down. I have since 
learned that I was right. Furthermore, even if she 


258 Officer! 

could prove it, it is a fact that under the law of Eng¬ 
land she has no claim on the estates. What was there 
for us to do but to take the law into our own hands? 

“I determined to rifle the Earl’s dispatch box which 
Doreen had described to me. In it I was pretty sure 
that I would find papers which would bear out her 
claim. I knew that the original agreement between Ala- 
stair and Aleck was there, and I hoped that Doreen’s 
letter to Alastair might be there also. If she had only 
kept a copy of it! But of course in her innocence it 
never occurred to her to do so. 

“I went to the Colebrook and engaged a room for 
myself. I had previously learned that the Englishman 
was on the third floor, and I chose a room as near as 
I could get to his. In fact only two doors separated 
us. As up to this time he had not seen me, it was not 
necessary for me to disguise myself in any way. It was 
easy enough to watch his comings and goings in the 
hotel, but I was much discouraged by the discovery 
that there was a maid on duty all day in the corridor 
outside our rooms. 

“However I went to a locksmith near by, and mak¬ 
ing up a story, induced him to give me a piece of wax 
to take an impression of a key. Then by pretending 
that I had mistaken the number of my room, I obtained 
the key to Lord Hampshire’s room at the desk, and 
got an impression of it. The locksmith made me a 
key, and then I watched and waited for an opportunity 
to use it. 

“The presence of the maid in the corridor balked 
me, but she went off at night. Even then I was afraid 
to go into the man’s room, because I didn’t know at 


259 


Phillida’s Story 

what moment he might return. He did come in at 
ten o’clock having dined out somewhere, and after 
changing from his evening clothes to an ordinary suit, 
he went out again. The change of clothes suggested 
that he would be gone some time, and I realised I would 
not be likely to get a better opportunity. I went up¬ 
stairs. It required more resolution than any act of 
my whole life. I was nearly paralysed with terror. 
Nevertheless I went in. 

“Before I had found what I wanted, the English¬ 
man came back. Perhaps he had forgotten something; 
I don’t know. It was a rotten piece of luck. When 
I heard his key in the lock I nearly died. I switched 
off the light. He opened the door. When he put out 
his hand towards the switch I knocked it away. I 
suppose he didn’t know whether he had a man or a 
woman to deal with. In a sudden panic he ran to the 
window and shouted for help. 

“But as I attempted to get out of the door, he saw 
that it was only a woman, and seized me. I broke 
away, and started down the stairs. At the foot of 
the first flight I ran into your arms—you know what 
happened after that. The Englishman quickly re¬ 
covered from his panic, and putting two and two to¬ 
gether came to the conclusion that I was not a com¬ 
mon thief. In that he showed more perspicacity than 
you. Tie came around to the station house and helped 
to get me off. 

“What you do not know is, that my plan was suc¬ 
cessful after all, though I did not get the dispatch- 
box. His Lordship received a nasty fright. I suspect 
that the dispatch-box contained a rich prize for a 


260 Officer! 

blackmailer. When he discovered that Doreen had 
friends who were ready to fight for her, he quickly 
changed his tone. In the meantime, I must tell you, 
the news of his accession to the title had reached 
England, and he had received an offer by cable of the 
chairmanship of a great English bank, a very high 
honour. This played directly into our hands, for at 
that juncture any newspaper story which showed him 
up in a bad light would have ruined him. 

“Early next morning he came around to Doreen’s 
boarding-house. By great good luck I happened to be 
with her, as you know. This time I did the talking. We 
quickly came to terms. Provided his name was not 
published in connection with the affair, the Earl agreed 
to pay Doreen’s debt to her landlady, and her fare to 
New Mexico. He further agreed to continue pay¬ 
ing her the sum her husband had been receiving of 
him; i.e., two hundred dollars a month. It was the 
exact sum she required, and we jumped at the chance. 
It was nothing to us that the Earl still denied her just 
claim, and affected to be offering it in charity. 

“Only a few minutes after he had left us, you ar¬ 
rested me for the second time, and the fat was in the 
fire again. His lordship was much more scared than I 
was. I fully intended to keep my mouth shut what¬ 
ever happened, but he did not believe that my resolve 
to do so would be proof against a trail for felony. 
In the courthouse his hanger-on, the one you heard 
called Glanville, approached me, gave me a sum of 
money, and told me that when I was taken out of the 
building a taxicab would be running slowly up and 
down in the street below with the door open, if I had 


261 


Phillida’s Story 

nerve enough to make a break for liberty. Of course 
I had nerve enough. Liberty was sweet, and I had 
nothing to lose by the attempt. I got safe away as 
you know. 

“Glanville had given me an address to communicate 
with. I went to Atlantic City because it was the first 
place I thought of, and I supposed that I would be 
safe amongst the crowds there. I took a room in an 
humble lodging house, and telegraphed to the address 
I had been given for further instructions. While I 
was awaiting an answer you came up with me, and 
followed me into the picture house, and I had to run 
for it again. I couldn’t leave Atlantic City because 
I was expecting the Earl there. I needed more money. 
But I changed to the biggest hotel in town, and adopted 
a disguise which I thought would baffle you. I tele¬ 
graphed my new address and room number to the 
Earl, who replied that he would be there at three- 
thirty the same afternoon. You know how that worked 
out. 

“That is the whole story. Doreen is in a sanatorium 
in New Mexico. I have received a report on her case. 
In a year, barring accidents, she may expect to be 
discharged cured and whole. But any interruption of 
the treatment, any shock, would almost certainly be 
fatal. The money for her is being paid through agents 
in New York. The moment that the Earl of Hamp¬ 
shire’s name is published in connection with this case 
it will stop. As I have already pointed out, neither 
Doreen nor I have any money, nor any way of getting 
it. In the courts she would not have a leg to stand 
on. So there you are. 


262 Officer! 

“You are a man, my dear, and must act according 
to your convictions. I am a woman and can only act 
according to the promptings of my heart. I am not 
going over again all the reasons I have already urged 
on you. You demanded that the facts be put before 
you, and now they are. You will do what seems right 
to you. But I must tell you that if any harm comes 
to Doreen as a result of the action you take, though 
I might love you still to my sorrow, it would erect a 
bar between us that nothing could ever overcome. I 
write it coldly, but I am not cold—only tired, so tired 
of struggling against one I love.” 


“Phillida.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE TRIAL 

T^HE days that remained before Phillida’s trial 
-*■ were days of acute torment for Larry. He went 
to bed with it at night, and got up with it in the morn¬ 
ing, the endless, grinding round in his brain from which 
there was no issue. He vacillated continually between 
the two courses of action that were open to him: 
to speak or to let matters take their course. His 
reason was convinced that it would be wiser not to 
speak, but his heart rebelled. How could he sit by 
and allow the brave, generous, wrong-headed Phillida 
to be held up as a felon in men’s eyes? to be sent to 
prison? He was well aware that his speaking might 
not save her from prison—the legal eye could hardly 
be expected to see the matter in the same light as the 
lover’s; that was not it; it was being prevented from 
ranging himself alongside the one he loved that hurt 
him so. He doubted if he could bear that hurt when 
it came to the final test. 

The very day arrived without his having been able 
to formulate a course of action beyond “wait and see. 
After all she might be acquitted, though there was 
nothing likely to bring that about beyond his prayers. 
If, as seemed inevitable, she were convicted and sen¬ 
tenced . . . he could not think beyond that. What 
was the use of deciding what he would do when he was 
263 


264 Officer! 

at -the mercy of his feelings ? The event would have to 
decide for him. 

Prudence urged him to keep out of the courtroom 
except during the time that he was required to give 
evidence—but he was not strong enough to do so. 
Among the first to arrive, he stayed right through, and 
missed not a word that was spoken. ^ Much of it was 
a torture to him, but it would have been a worse tor¬ 
ture to be outside, and not know what was happen¬ 
ing. 

The case was heard in General Sessions, Part Three. 
It was a stifling August day, one of those days that 
seem to sap the marrow of men. The proceedings 
dragged wearily. Excepting Larry and the little knot 
of the prisoner’s friends across the room from him, no¬ 
body seemed to care greatly which way it went. The 
prisoner herself appeared to be entirely unconcerned. 
The jury with handkerchiefs stuffed inside their collars, 
and palm leaf fans in their hands, listened apathetically. 
Some of them had a struggle to keep awake after 
lunch. The judge—but he did not seem human so 
much as a mere abstraction of Justice perched up 
on the bench in his silk gown. The opposing counsel 
contended in the time-honoured way, but it was too 
hot for them to put much ginger into it. The benches 
were only half full. While the prisoner’s attempted 
escape had caused a mild sensation in its day, so many 
things had happened since, the public had forgotten. 

Larry was an important witness for the prosecu¬ 
tion. He had long foreseen this ordeal, and nerved 
himself to go through with it by adopting an absolutely 
wooden attitude on the stand. He answered the prose- 


265 


The Trial 

cutor’s questions briefly and exactly, and volunteered 
not a word beyond. For some reason this is considered 
an admirable attitude in a witness, though it is not 
at all favourable to the disclosure of the truth. When 
he concluded the prosecutor thanked Larry. Larry 
threw him a glance that disconcerted the attorney. 
Thank me for nothing! it said. 

The prisoner thanked Larry too, with a warm and 
speaking glance of her dark eyes. Thanked him for 
having refrained from defending her! Such was the 
queer, twisted, heart-breaking situation. Larry for 
the most part kept his eyes averted from her. That 
he could not stand. All the while he was testifying 
her girl friends glared at him unremittingly, but his 
lip curled in scorn at them. They had the easy part, 
advertising themselves as her friends; he wore a mask 
and broke his heart for her. 

Larry’s cross-examination was merely perfunctory. 
Evidently prisoner’s counsel had been instructed not 
to put certain obvious questions to him. Phillida’s 
attorney was an able young fellow, but he was fatally 
handicapped by the mystery in which his client insisted 
on enveloping her actions and her motives. He did 
the best he could for her. 

In addition to Larry, the locksmith and the various 
hotel people testified against Phillida. Between them 
they established the fact that Phillida had had a 
false key made with which she had entered Mr. 
Felix’s” room. There was no attempt by the other 
side to refute this. Indeed, when Phillida took the 
stand in her own defense, she caused a mild sensation 
by frankly avowing that she had entered the English- 


Officer! 


266 

man’s room. She did so, she explained, for the pur¬ 
pose of obtaining something which she believed she 
had a right to. 

Further than that she refused to go. The prosecu¬ 
tor, cross-examining her, failed to draw out any ex¬ 
planation or amplification of her original statement. 
But it was obvious that he was not overanxious to 
do so. He felt that her statement as it stood was 
the best possible aid to his case. He contented himself 
by framing questions cunningly devised to incriminate 
Phillida with the jury: questions that he knew when 
he put them, she would refuse to answer. Larry re¬ 
garded the sneering lawyer with murder in his heart. 

The judge himself endeavoured to elicit some ex¬ 
planation from Phillida of the curious defence she 
had offered, but without any better success than the 
lawyer. His Honour was clearly irritated by her 
obduracy. No doubt he would have committed her 
for contempt, had she not already been on trial for 
a graver offence. 

Phillida’s counsel called a number of character wit¬ 
nesses on her behalf, and this ended the taking of 
testimony. 

The court took a recess for luncheon, during which 
time Larry walked around and around the balcony 
that encircled the great well of the Criminal Courts 
like a man in a state of suspended consciousness. A 
score of times he returned to the door of Part Three 
only to find that it was not yet time for his ordeal to 
recommence. They could dawdle over their meal 
while Phillida’s fate hung in the balance! 

When His Honour took his seat again, the assis- 


267 


The Trial 

tant-district-attorney arose to address the jury. His 
remarks were conceived wholly within the spirit of 
the bad convention that governs our criminal courts; 
i. e., an appeal to passion instead of to reason. To see 
the ambitious young man all in the way of business, 
working himself up to a frenzy of hatred and scorn 
against the proud and composed Phillida, and endeav¬ 
ouring by every art to infect the stolid jurymen with his 
own hateful passions, enraged and sickened Larry. 
He sat through it with his eyes down, gripping his 
seat. 

Counsel for the prisoner followed. His appeal was 
addressed no less to the emotions, but it was to the 
gentler emotions of compassion, and of reverence for 
women. Larry soothed, drank in every word greedily. 
He privately resolved to make the speaker a hand¬ 
some present. Phillida’s lawyer made the most of 
his one strong point, which was that the man who was 
supposed to be Phillida’s victim had not only refused 
to appear against her, but had actively assisted her 
to escape. The perspiring jury appeared to be as lit¬ 
tle moved by one appeal as by the other. 

The prosecutor then spoke briefly in rebuttal, point¬ 
ing out that if “Mr. Felix” had yielded to a senti¬ 
mental plea, it was no reason why they, the jury, should 
do so: that in fact it was their duty to sternly disregard 
sentimental pleas. That women and men were alike 
before the law when they transgressed it, etc., etc. 

The last word was had by prisoner’s counsel who 
made an impassioned appeal to the chivalry of the 
jury to give the prisoner the benefit of the very large 
doubt which had arisen in the case. 


268 Officer! 

His Honour then prepared to address the jury. 
Larry anxiously searched his face for some signs of 
human compassion. There were none. To the over¬ 
worked judge it was all in the day’s work. Larry 
saw merely a withered little man with a weary, languid 
expression, and a jealous sense of his own dignity. 
His voice, carefully cultivated to betray no human 
feeling, was like that of a justice machine. But he 
was human in spite of himself, and his voice showed 
an involuntary irritation induced no doubt by the heat 
and the bad air of the courtroom. 

He said: “Gentlemen of the Jury: An attempt by 
no means uncommon in criminal cases, has been made 
in this case to envelope the indisputable facts in an 
atmosphere of romantic mystery. Many irrelevant 
suggestions have been made, and side issues raised. 
There is no place for mystery in a court of law, gen¬ 
tlemen. Both sides are given the fullest opportunity 
to bring forth the facts; and if instead of facts a 
mystery is offered you, you will draw your own de¬ 
ductions therefrom. 

“It is your duty to disentangle the facts of this 
case. Your sole concern is with the facts as brought 
forth on the witness stand. They are after all quite 
simple. The prisoner is charged with having procured 
a false key, by means of which she entered the room 
of a guest in the Hotel Colebrook during his absence. 
These facts are not disputed by the defence. Yet the 
prisoner pleaded not guilty. An attempt to explain 
the apparent inconsistency was made by her statement 
on the stand that she entered the man’s room for the 
purpose of obtaining something that was rightfully 


The Trial 


269 


hers. But she refused to state in answer to questions 
from counsel or from the bench, what that something 
was, or to explain any of the circumstances surround¬ 
ing it. You will draw your own conclusions from this. 
I must point out to you that should you decide the 
prisoner was speaking the truth concerning her motive 
in entering the man’s room, her method of recover¬ 
ing her property was nevertheless unlawful.. If every 
one attempted to redress his private grievances in this 
manner, what would happen to society? 

‘‘The prisoner, having been arrested and arraigned 
before a magistrate in the customary manner, was 
remanded for trial. On her way to the City Prison 
she escaped from the custody of the police. It has 
been suggested that she escaped with the aid of the 
very man whom she is accused of having attempted 
to rob. But there is no proof of this before you, and 
even if there were, the incident is not germane to this 
case. Entirely too much has been made of it by coun¬ 
sel on both sides. For on the other hand I must re¬ 
mind you that the prisoner is not on trial here for 
having escaped from the police. They have the op¬ 
tion of bringing another charge against her should 
they wish to do so. I therefore suggest to you that 
you disregard the incident of her escape altogether, 
except in so far as it may bear in your minds upon 
the question of her guilt of the offence with which she 
here stands charged. 

“Prisoner’s counsel has emphasised the fact that 
the supposed victim of the attempted robbery has never 
appeared as a complainant against the prisoner. I 
would point out to you that the case of the People 


270 Officer! 

is not necessarily invalidated by the fact. It is a popu¬ 
lar misconception that the victim of a robbery is the 
only sufferer thereby. Robbery is an offence against 
society at large. If the proof of a robbery or an at¬ 
tempted robbery is otherwise forthcoming, the failure 
of the victim to appear is not significant. In the case 
before you, the hotel management which owes protec¬ 
tion to its guests, was clearly an injured party. 

“Several persons of undoubted probity have been 
called to testify to the previous good character of the 
prisoner. This is proper evidence, and the law takes 
cognisance of its value. But I must point out to you 
that such evidence has no bearing upon the facts of 
this case. You should not allow yourselves to be in¬ 
fluenced by such testimony in regard to facts which 
may otherwise have been proved to your satisfaction. 
The prisoner is either guilty or not guilty. That is 
the sole question for you to determine. Should you 
be satisfied that she is guilty, and so render your ver¬ 
dict, it then becomes the province of the court to take 
these various considerations into account when sen¬ 
tencing her.” 

There was a good deal more, couched in the same 
vein. As Larry listened his amazement and anger 
grew. For in spite of the elaborate phraseology in 
which it was involved, in spite of the prudent hedg¬ 
ing, it seemed to him that the judge’s charge constituted 
a direct recommendation to the jury to convict The 
blood rushed to his head. Was this justice? he asked 
himself. If it was, he was off it for the rest of his 
life. If this impostor, this solemn liar, was a law- 


The Trial 271 

giver he’d be a crook! . . . Thus the hot tide of 
Larry’s thoughts bore him away. 

His burning eyes searched the faces of the jury¬ 
men for some sign that they indignantly rejected the 
judge’s suggestions. But there was nothing of the 
sort to be seen there. The dull, worthy men, small 
tradesmen or artisans or clerks, all twelve of them 
were listening to the judge with their mouths open, 
visibly much more impressed by his dry legal style 
than they had been by all the passionate eloquence of 
opposing counsel. They glanced at each other in agree¬ 
ment, and all but nodded their heads in affirmation. 
“They’re going to do what he tells them!” thought 
Larry, groaning in spirit. “The fools! The fools! 
Oh, God, what a farce!” 

When the judge finished speaking, the jury was in¬ 
vited to retire to their deliberations. But they made 
no move to do so. Instead, moved by a common im¬ 
pulse, they put their heads together. There was whis¬ 
pering and sage nodding of heads. 

A moment of electrical tension was created in the 
courtroom. Most of the spectators were not inter¬ 
ested in the case and this moment, this thrill was what 
they had come for. It is the most dramatic of all situ¬ 
ations. No play on the stage can match it, for it is 
real. Even the judge to whom it was a daily affair, 
fussed among his papers nervously; the clerk of the 
court took off his glasses and wiped them; opposing 
counsel smiled self-consciously, and whispered to their 
associates. Of them all only the strange prisoner was 
at her ease. Her hands were loosely clasped in her lap, 


272 


Officer! 

and her gaze was bent through the upper part of one 
of the tall windows at the sky. 

Every eye in the room was fixed on her. Her 
friends, white-faced and tense, pressed their handker¬ 
chiefs to their mouths. Her lover clenched his teeth, 
and dug his nails into his palms. This moment, the 
most dreadful in Larry’s life, was always associated 
in his mind with the smell of hot varnish. 

The foreman of the jury signified to the clerk of 
the court that he was ready to return a verdict. The 
clerk whispered to his Honour, who graciously signi¬ 
fied his readiness to receive it. There was an agoniz¬ 
ing moment while His Honour searched for his glasses 
which had become mislaid. Why he needed his glasses 
to listen with, nobody could have told. He found 
them under his papers, and, putting them on, looked 
at the jury over the tops of the lenses. 

The gawky, mild-faced foreman who looked like a 
carpenter of the old school, cleared his throat and 
said: 

“Your Honour, we find the prisoner guilty as 
charged, and respectfully recommend her to the mercy 
of the court.” 

The varnished, wainscotted courtroom whirled 
around Larry’s head. Something broke inside him. 
He was no longer conscious of what he was doing. 

“Sit down, sir!” cried a court attendant sharply, and 
started towards him. 

Larry paid no attention to the court attendant, but 
the prisoner turned her head quickly, and bent a deep, 
mournful, imploring glance at Larry. All the forces 
of her soul she gathered up into that mute appeal. 


The Trial 


273 


And Larry answered it. He sat down. He had made 
his choice at last. He chose to do what Phillida wished. 

Presently through the fog of pain that obscured his 
senses, he became aware that the proceedings were go¬ 
ing forward. Prisoner’s counsel had requested a stay 
of execution which the judge had curtly denied. 

“There is no need of that,” said Plis Honour, “in 
view of the decision I have come to.” He paused to 
give his subsequent words greater impressiveness. 
“Up to this time you appear to have been a young 
woman of excellent character,” he continued, address¬ 
ing the prisoner. “I have been not a little impressed 
by the testimony in favour of your industrious habits, 
and the talent you possess, though perhaps your pro¬ 
fession is not one which tends to stability of character. 
I regard this unfortunate act of yours as an aberra¬ 
tion. Whatever may have been the reasons which led 
you into it, I am inclined to think that it is not likely 
to be repeated. You are hardly the sort of woman 
who becomes a professional law-breaker. Moreover 
I feel that you have already been sufficiently impressed 
with the folly of the course you took in this in¬ 
stance . . .” 

(Words! Words! Words! Would the mouthing 
hypocrite never have done!) 

“I have therefore decided to order you released 
under suspended sentence.” 

A murmur of approval went about the room, in¬ 
stantly silenced by a rap of the judge’s gavel. 

For a moment or two the significance of his con¬ 
cluding words did not reach Larry’s understanding. 
Suspended sentence. Suspended sentence. Merely 


274 Officer! 

words. Then a joyous white beam of light pierced 
the fog. Released! There was no ambiguity about 
that word! Released! Released! Larry’s feelings to¬ 
wards the judge underwent a startling transformation. 
The little man elevated on his bench now seemed to 
be enveloped in an aura of goodness and wisdom. 

... A corker! a corker! He was wise enough to 
see through all the dust the lawyers kicked up. He 
lets them blow up their balloons all they want, and 
then neatly punctures them at the end. He saw what 
was behind this case without being told. What a 
man he is! You can trust our judges. I wonder if 
he would let me take him by the hand? . . . 

A great peace entered Larry’s soul. He had his 
heart’s desire—Phillida had hers too. Everything 
was all right. 

The prisoner was surrounded by her friends. Larry 
stole out of the courtroom. He knew that his time 
would come later. 


CHAPTER XXI 


CONCLUSION 

P HILLIDA walked around the room, stroking all 
the objects with a curious affectionateness. She 
and Larry were alone in the attic studio on South 
Washington Square that Phillida shared with Arline 
and Cynthia. 

“It’s worth while going to jail just to get out again,” 
she said. “Everybody ought to go to jail once in 
their lives.” 

“Oh, if it was a regular thing there wouldn’t be 
any thrill in it,” said Larry. 

Phillida went to the high window, and leaned her 
elbows on the sill. “The sky is like a turquoise bowl,” 
she murmured; “the dingy old trees are washed with 
gold; the people on the park benches sit like gods.” 

Larry joined her at the window, and flung an arm 
about her shoulders. “Sort of shop-worn gods if you 
ask me,” he said, in his matter-of-fact way. 

“You’ll have to go now,” said Phillida. “I’ve got 
to dress. You can wait for me down in the Square.” 
“Where are we going?” asked Larry dreamily. 
“To the Spotted Pup. The girls are giving a lit¬ 
tle party for us. They’re going to hang out a sign: 
‘Closed to the public for one night only.’ Just a small 
party; Arline, Cynthia, Tina and a few others.” 
“Lord! Tina will be laying for me!” said Larry. 
275 


276 


Officer! 


“Oh, she’s prepared to forgive you. Everything 
that happened before this moment is to be buried . . . 
It was a great disappointment to Tina when she learned 
that I had first call on you. Her heart was set on a 
policeman.” 

“Maybe I can furnish her with one. There’s my 
pal, Matt McArdle.” 

“Can you get hold of him for to-night?” 

“No, poor devil, he’ll be on duty . . . Only going 
to be girls there?” Larry added a little anxiously. 

“Oh, there’ll be men enough to go around.” 

“What sort of men?” asked Larry dubiously, 
“artists?” 

“Artists and scribblers and so on,” said Phillida, 
smiling. “Don’t you like artists?” 

“I never knew any men artists. Girl artists are all 
right.” This with a sidelong look and a hug. “But 
somehow it don’t seem quite natural for a man.” 

Phillida laughed a peal. 

“What are you laughing at?” 

“At you. Do you mind?” 

“I don’t mind anything now.” 

“I’ve got to laugh at you,” said Phillida. “But 
you’re absolutely the way I want you to be. You must 
never change the least bit. You’re so blessedly real!” 

“I’m pretty thick,” said Larry deprecatingly. 

“I love your thickness,” she said, squeezing his 
arm. It s exactly what I need. Something to hang 
on to. Something to hold me down.” 

“Then you don’t mind my not being artistic?” 

“No! No! Foolish one! Your feeling about artists 


Conclusion 277 

is right. There is something slightly unreal about us 
—something unreal about me.” 

“I don’t notice it.” Another hug. 

“I live in my imagination. I need you to convince 
me of my own identity.” 

“That’s too finedrawn for me.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Not a damn!” 

Phillida’s head fell back on his shoulder. They 
lost themselves. 

“I will always be talking,” she murmured in his 
embrace. “It doesn’t matter whether you listen.” 

He finally released her. “Well, to-night’s provided 
for,” he said with a curious diffidence. “What are we 
going tlr do to-morrow?” 

“I must get to work,” said Phillida, wickedly mis¬ 
understanding him. “All this time wasted!” 

“I must get to work too,” said Larry. “And I 
haven’t got any work to start on . . . But that isn’t 
what I meant?” 

“What did you mean?” 

“Could we get married to-morrow?” he suggested 
with an absurd air of indifference. 

“Why, yes,” said Phillida, matching his tone, “I’m 
quite looking forward to it.” 

Her sly mimicry set Larry off. Larry did not see 
the funny side of things as quickly as she did, but 
when he laughed his laughter came out of the very 
middle of him, and the walls trembled. 

“I love to hear you!” murmured Phillida. 

“But it’s a serious situation that faces us,” said 


278 Officer! 

Larry. “I’ve spent all my money, and I haven’t got 
a job.” 

“Ah, let’s not be serious yet. We’ll live like the 
sparrows.” 

Larry pressed her close, and his eyes brooded over 
her with a lover’s insatiable hunger. “I have you— 
and I haven’t got you,” he murmured. “However 
close I hold you, somehow you escape. There will 
always be a pain in it, no matter how happy I am!” 

“Now who’s drawing fine points?” she whispered, 
smiling. 

Larry came down to earth. “Marriage isn’t going 
to be a bed of roses for you and me,” he said quaintly. 
“I can see that.” 

“Of course it isn’t,” said Phillida, laughing. “It 
never is. But I’m surprised to hear you say so . . . 
Why isn’t it?” 

“I’ve got to get accustomed to a lot of new ideas,” 
he said, with a sigh. “You live in a world strange to 
me. 

“Ah, you dear!” she said warmly. “I don’t expect 
you to give up your world for me. Why can’t you 
go on living in your world, and I in mine? We can 
meet on the borders and exchange experiences. It 
will be good for both of us. I don’t believe married 
people ought to swallow each other whole. Let’s make 
it a fifty-fifty deal. I’ll give you half my notions in 
exchange for half of yours. That will make a wide 
meeting-ground where we can play together. ... To 
begin with, in marrying me do you expect to get just 
a housekeeper? I warn you I’m a second-rate one. 
Look at this place!” 


Conclusion 


279 


“No!” said Larry. “You must go on with your 
work. Let the housekeeping get itself done. They all 
say you’re so talented. I don’t understand your work, 
but I’m proud of it. I will understand it some day.” 

“Ah, then we’re really going to be happy,” mur¬ 
mured Phillida. “I was prepared to marry you, what¬ 
ever you said. But we’re going to be happy! If you 
will give my mind free play. Let me talk myself out, 
and do not take me too seriously. We have so much 
to give each other ... I have a lot of ideas as to 
how a rational marriage ought to be conducted which 
I will air to you a little at a time. If they’re too strong 
for you, I’ll put them away in moth-balls. Ah! with 
you and my work too, what a full life I shall have!” 

“I love to hear you talk!” said Larry simply. 

Phillida pealed with laughter again. “You’re al¬ 
ready taking me at my word!” she said ruefully. 

“I don’t get you,” said Larry. 

She refused to explain. “I’ve already given too 
much away,” she said. 

“Do you realise that you’re marrying a convicted 
burglar?” she asked. 

“Oh, well, you’re willing to take a policeman.” 

“Well, I promise never to commit another bur- 
glary.” 

“And I promise to do no more policing.” 


THE END 




























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